And not for the first time, Timmy wondered if the side effects of his antidepressant really were typical, or if Dr. Flessenhopper might be misleading him...
Convinced that Dr. Flessenhopper was not all that he presented himself to be (and was likely something else altogether), Timmy stopped taking his antidepressants and dropped them instead in his chamber pot and in the vase of day lilies on his bureau.
The fairy begged him not to do it but he ignored her tiresome entreaties.
His head was much clearer in a matter of days.
In a fit of perfect lucidity, he tore down the bed curtains and fashioned a lovely gown from them, created a fabulous hat from the ruffled collar and pillow sham, hopped on the bier, began a jolly song at the very top of his voice, and had those inky rabbits march him out of his bed chamber, past the surprised upstairs maids, down the front staircase, past his shocked governess, past his outraged father, past his fainting mother, out the front door, down the garden path, past the non-plussed gardener's boy (so long, Dicken, I'll miss you), through the village, out onto the high country road, and off toward London and a much happier future.
And that, you dreary little fairy in the dowdy little gown, is how it's done.
And not for the first time, Timmy wondered if the side effects of his antidepressant really were typical, or if Dr. Flessenhopper might be misleading him...
Timmy's ruff is on too tight.
ReplyDeleteAnd his fairy looks like it could use a pick-me-up.
prescription drugs are good, in moderation...
ReplyDeleteConvinced that Dr. Flessenhopper was not all that he presented himself to be (and was likely something else altogether), Timmy stopped taking his antidepressants and dropped them instead in his chamber pot and in the vase of day lilies on his bureau.
ReplyDeleteThe fairy begged him not to do it but he ignored her tiresome entreaties.
His head was much clearer in a matter of days.
In a fit of perfect lucidity, he tore down the bed curtains and fashioned a lovely gown from them, created a fabulous hat from the ruffled collar and pillow sham, hopped on the bier, began a jolly song at the very top of his voice, and had those inky rabbits march him out of his bed chamber, past the surprised upstairs maids, down the front staircase, past his shocked governess, past his outraged father, past his fainting mother, out the front door, down the garden path, past the non-plussed gardener's boy (so long, Dicken, I'll miss you), through the village, out onto the high country road, and off toward London and a much happier future.
And that, you dreary little fairy in the dowdy little gown, is how it's done.