I’m working on a longer writing project this week, so please enjoy some classic SPASMS in my absence. xo, Amy

Gertrude was on her way to the store to buy some groceries when a man beckoned her into a dark alleyway. Normally Gertrude wasn’t the kind of broad who followed strange men into dark alleyways, but today was Thursday and you never could trust Thursdays. The man opened his trenchcoat to reveal a dinner napkin. “Is that all?” whinnied Gertrude. “A napkin! I thought you were going to sell me some jewelry or a watch!” “Listen, dame,” he said (he was a real smooth talker, you could see that), “Listen, this here is no ordinary napkin. What we got here is a serviette.” Gertrude snorted. She’d never heard of a serviette, and what she didn’t know would overflow a landfill. Even in Jersey. “Tell you what I’m gonna do. If I can prove to you that this here serviette is magic, that this is a gen-yoo-wine magical napkin, if I can do that, then will you buy it for… a dollar?” Gertrude thought a minute. Two, actually, seeing as she didn’t know how much a cloth dinner napkin would cost and also it was Thursday and she didn’t think so good on Thursdays. “Well, if you can prove it, maybe,” she allowed generously. “And make it snappy, I’m starving here!” The man in the trenchcoat set the serviette on the alley floor and placed his toes on two adjacent corners of the napkin, or serviette, whatever. “Put your toes on the corners, facing me.” Gertrude did so, and found herself nose-to-nose with the man. “Now, would you believe that this napkin can fly?” And surely enough, Gertrude felt a breeze on her legs. But the breeze was from the fact that the guy in the trenchcoat was raising her skirt up behind her. Sure, it was corny, but hey, the guy in the trenchcoat was kinda cute, and before you could say “Canarsie,” Gertrude and the guy in the trenchcoat were a little more friendly, leaning up against the wall smoking on a couple of cigarettes. Gertrude laughed and said, “Well, it was nice, but I’m not giving you a dollar! This napkin didn’t do squat!” “It is magical. Works every time,” said the guy in the trenchcoat, who turned out to have a name, which was Conrad, and a nice little apartment, which wasn’t large, but it was big enough for the both of them, and before you know it, Gertrude was Mrs. Conrad Blevins, with three little Blevinses in tow. And Gertrude kept the magic napkin in the china cupboard in the dining room as proof that anything can happen on a Thursday.

Copyright 2004 Amy Frushour Kelly. All rights reserved.
Reproduction by any means prohibited without prior written consent.