THE HAIRCUT AND THE HAT

Eddyth Whistlepooth’s girth didn’t assist him as he tried in vain to lower himself into the narrow park bench. He huffed crossly, wiggled a bit one way and then the other, but finally he was forced to concede that the bench was of faulty design. Eddy, as he liked to be known, had always been on the plump side and at fifty-six-years young he was quite proud of it. After all, stout Irish Gnomes from good blood-lines were well thought off by the feminine sort, especially those stout Irish Gnomes who lived reasonably high off the hog, which he did, if he did say so himself. Why only the day before Mr. Odwinkle the village bank manager had nodded his head at him as they passed in the street and everybody knew that Mr. Odwinkle always looked straight ahead and never nodded at anybody unless they were high off the hog so to speak.

Goosebeak Feather was a small Gnome village located just over the hill from the Ugly Duckling Pub in Ireland’s County Carey. For those of you who’ve never heard of Goosebeak Feather—and that’s likely the few that haven’t made acquaintance of a Gnome—I’m told they do marvelous Sausage Rolls—the pub that is, not the village.

Anyway, Eddy—although pleasantly plump and well thought of the bank manager and by most of the feminine sort in Goosebeak Feather, was not thought of at all by the one such feminine sort that he had fallen desperately in love with. That would be one Ms. Phoneisha Maud Direswaddle, the village librarian who lived near the post office.

Eddy was smitten, more than smitten really, he was besotted. He wanted nothing more than to impress the lady of his virtues. Unfortunately, the lady herself was unimpressed. She was completely unaware of Eddy and even if she had been aware of him on some level, she was a very difficult lady to impress.

Phoneisha Direswaddle was also a rather plump sort and it could be said, a little on the plain side. Eddy was very partial to her plumpness, in fact he found her plumpness highly attractive, but never call Ms. Direswaddle plain in front of Eddy—in Eddy’s opinion Phoneisha was anything but plain, she was the cream of the crop, the top of the proverbial tree.

At sixty-three-years young—a little older and longer in the tooth than Eddy—she was a confirmed spinster and rather stuck in her ways. Most particularly she was stuck on her peculiar views about men—she saw no reason for them—this understandably could prove a tad tricky for Eddy even if she knew he was interested, which she didn’t.

Some might say Eddy’s pursuit of Phoneisha was a little stalled, others in the village were heard to say that his pursuit was, “On hold indefinitely.”

It was Eddy’s opinion, although he was too shy to say it aloud, that his pursuit of Ms. Direswaddle was most certainly, yes most certainly going to happen, soon.

Nonetheless Eddy was smitten and stood firmly in his unrequited longings and deep feelings from afar. His confounded shyness had prevented him from approaching—and yes, he’d never spoken to Phoneisha, never approached her, and Lord knows he’d never pursued her, but that would change. It would!

* * * * *

Moggy Moonbogger was a dear friend of Eddy’s—had been since they were very young  Gnomes in their first class together at the Little Gnome’s School with old Ms. Wazzleworth as their teacher.

Moggy, being a worrier of the highest order, had concerns about Eddy’s emotional health. He’d spoken as such to his second cousin twice-removed, Foggoty Malveen, who was also the village barber and owned the local hat shop.

Foggoty had agreed, something had to be done for poor Eddy.

“Poor Eddy. In constant turmoil he is, with his sorry feelings unrequited as they are. There must be something we can do Moggy? You should bring him in for a haircut, half-price of course.” Foggoty waggled his rather extensive eyebrows in self-congratulations at his own wonderful suggestion.

Moggy furrowed his own brow, “You’ll not put it on the house then, for an old friend in need?” Foggoty’s eyebrows shot up and nearly removed his toupee.

“On the house you say, on the house? And wouldn’t that make him feel like a pauper, lower than the low, on top of his sorry, unrequited love life?”

Moggy shook his head suspiciously, “I dare say, but wouldn’t it also save you a penny or two?” Foggoty’s mouth flew open as though to comment but stayed open in derision.

“I’m begging your pardon Moggy, are you calling me a tight arse?” Moggy stood his ground and nodded his head once.

“I am you old sting, you could have given Eddy the haircut for free but you’re so into the profit margin you can’t see your head for your arse. Shame on you!” Foggoty squared his shoulders.

“Shame on me is it? Well, let me tell you Moggy Moonbogger I was going to donate a quality hat from my hat shop—an idea that had only just occurred to him, to save face—as a present for the desired spinster lady. In the faint hope that it would tip her affections in Eddy’s direction. Now however, that I’ve been called a tight arse I’ll have other plans won’t I?” It was Moggy’s turn to gawp.

“Well now, well now. You ought to have said something along those lines my dear cousin. And as for calling you that, what you said I did, I never did. I never would. I was a mis, a mis, a ‘misconflatulation’.” Moggy’s face took on the hint of a blush at the made-up word.

Foggoty thought the word real—much to Moggy’s relief, “Yes well, mis-whatever it was, it sounded like tight arse to me.” 

Moggy continued on gamely, “Well it was a ‘misconflatulation’ to be sure cousin, I would never demean you that way, surely you know that. I think too highly of you. A hat you say, a quality hat no less, that is so generous of you. I’m sure Ms. Direswaddle will be highly flattered and surely cleave to Eddy’s side.” Moggy sighed at the romanticism of it all.

Foggoty grunted. “Well that’s to be decided, if in fact I donate the quality hat to the cause. My feelings, you see Moggy, my feelings have been…”

Moggy intervened, “Would it help your feelings any if I were to nominate you for Mayor when the elections come around next month?” There was a moment of silence.

“So, the haircut at half price and the donated hat, we have a covenant my dear fellow?” Moggy smiled.

“We do.”

* * * * * *

           Sometimes the most unusual things happen when you least expect them too. One moment Eddy Whistlepooth was attempting to sit on one of the rocking chairs outside Handsome Harry’s Suits Emporium—it was his fifth attempt but still no luck, Harry must have swapped the rockers out for smaller models—there was always something untrustworthy about Harry. When suddenly he was whisked away by Moggy Moonbogger, whisked indeed at an unbelievably fast pace. Finding himself within seconds squeezed into a barber’s chair at Foggoty Malveen’s Hair Magic.

           Before Eddy could speak he was spoken too and the clip-clip-clipping began.

           “Yes, yes, I know just what to do Eddy. Leave it all to me and I’ll have you looking like a Gnome Star.”

Foggoty grinned. Eddy had never seen Foggoty Malveen grin before and as far as he was concerned he never wanted to again.

           “Um.” Eddy attempted but was cut off again. Clip-clip-clip-clip.

           “No, no, leave it to me. You’ll love it, you’ll be a new you.” Foggoty squinted through his glasses at Eddy, his beady eyes appearing much larger than they normally were, clip-clip-clip-clip. He was humming to himself, in some sort of zone. Eddy was very concerned, clip-clip-clip, tried to slide down the chair away from him but the chair had him in a choke hold.

           Finally, “Voila! My masterpiece. A new you, the height of fashion, I know you’ll be very pleased.”

           Eddy’s eyes at this point were firmly shut.

           “Come along old fellow, open your eyes and look at your wonderful new self.”

* * * * * *

           Ms. Phoneisha Maud Direswaddle was completely dressed for her workday in her brown tweed skirt, her mustard blouse and brown cardigan and her sturdy brown shoes. She sat with her back stick-straight, ankles crossed beneath her, in her old comfy kitchen chair that was broken at the back and taped together by bright pink sticky tape. Her kitchen table was also broken—one leg was shorter than the other, so was propped up with a mouse trap.

Phoneisha had precisely ten minutes to drink her tea and eat her boiled egg and four slices of toast. Plenty of time, everything was on schedule, and then it wasn’t.

There was a knock on the door. “Hello, Ms. Direswaddle, Mr. Firefickle the postman here, I have a package for you.”

A small moment of quiet, ensued. Then, “Obviously, Mr. Firefickle,” she said disdainfully, because, after all he was a man, and there really was no need for men, “you must be mistaken. I know no one, therefore nobody would send me a package. Gooday to you sir.”

           Another moment of quiet, ensued and then another knock on the door.

“Begging your pardon Ms. Direswaddle but the package is addressed to you, it has your name on it so it must be yours.” Now, Phoneisha was becoming flustered.

The careful ten minutes she had allotted herself was suddenly down to three minutes. This man, this confounded man had interfered with her day.

“Well, can you leave it, there.” Phoneisha said sharply.

“Where Miss?”

“There. There on the step. Outside please.” Her voice had become quite a squeak in her agitation.

“No Miss, sorry. No can do. I have to have a signature, from you.” Mr. Firefickle coughed, which for some reason annoyed Phoneisha even more. The damn man would want to come in by the fire next, well that would never do, absolutely not.

She heaved herself from her comfy chair and hurtled to the door, snatching it open in temper. “I am now late.”

The poor postman stood aghast, “Oh well, um, I’m right sorry about that Ms. Direswaddle, I’m a prompt man myself never one to be late so I hope I haven’t…”

“Give me the package please.” She cut him off hand outstretched and he handed her the package.

“Thank you, good day.” The door was summarily slammed and Mr. Firefickle stood for a second with his mouth agape once again.

As he shuffled off down her garden path he was heard muttering, nothing good, “Old Bat.” Might have been something he uttered.

Once inside Phoneisha slammed the package onto the table. Her schedule was now completely in tatters, she was officially late and the library would-not open late because she was always twenty-minutes early. Nevertheless, she took it out on the package and ripped at the paper and string. How dare this package muck with her morning, how dare it?

Suddenly, she saw the contents and stopped dead in her tracks. It was the most hideous hat, she had ever seen. Well maybe not the most hideous, Tweedy Otterman’s hat at the County Fair beat this one in the hideous category, but still. This hat was awful. She turned it over in her hands to see if it had any saving graces—none. It was cheap of make and cheaper of design. Ugly was the word. It was yellow, of all colors, with some hideous trim and a feather stuck in the brim that was surly from a pigeon. Yes, it was ugly, truly ugly but… A note lay in the packaging.

My dear Ms. Direswaddle, please accept this poor humble gift as a token of my esteem and my level of high respect for you. It comes with my deepest hope for a friendship with you.

Yours truly, Eddyth Whistlepooth

She was speechless, even had she anyone to speak to. She sat heavily on her comfy chair, completely forgetting her posture and the fact that she was eating into her twenty minutes. For the first time in her life Phoneisha didn’t have a plan of action. What could she do, what would she do?

She certainly couldn’t keep the hat. She hated the hat. Yet she had no choice but to acknowledge the fact that she had received it and thank Mr. Whistlepooth for his gift. What would she say?

* * * * * *

           Eddy opened his eyes and somehow, how he would never know, averted the horrified scream that tried to burst him.

The person that stared back from Foggoty Malveen’s barbershop mirror was not him. It was someone with a tiny piece of hair atop huge ears and a bulbous nose. You couldn’t call what Foggoty had done to him ‘a haircut’, more like a ‘mowing’. His hair was simply, gone.

Eddy’s hair had always hidden and played-down the two features he hated the most. Gnomes ears are known to be big but Eddy’s ears were beyond that, beyond big—they’d been the blight of his life at school when his mother had insisted he had his hair short. So, he’d been careful to grow his hair longer since then. Eddy’s nose regrettably was on a par with his ears so his hair, being on the longer side, also played-down his nose. But not now. Oh no not now. Foggoty Malveen had, simply stated, sheered him.

How would he ever leave the shop?

“That’ll be three shillings and sixpence to you Eddy, I’ve done it for half price.” Foggoty said proudly.

Eddy continued to stare blankly in front of him trying hard not to cry.

“Ahem.” Foggoty coughed, a little impatient for his money and to get to his next customer.

Eddy finally looked up, “Oh, um yes, of course.” He pulled the money from his pocket, then seeing Foggoty frown, remembered the tip and gave him a shilling.

“I know you love it Eddy, it looks terrific!” Eddy tried to agree, tried to move his lips but couldn’t. He managed to extract himself from the chair and stumbled from the shop. Head down, in the hopes that nobody would see him.

He was stopped about three feet from the barbershop door. His eyes still downcast he hadn’t noticed her approaching him.

“Mr. Whistlepooth?” Eddy looked up immediately at the sound of her voice. He was so ashamed of the way he looked he wanted desperately to look down but she’d approached him. What could this mean?

Eddy blushed however, he could only imagine how bad he looked to her. “Yes Ms. Direswaddle?” Phoneisha noticed his blush and for some reason, it made him less nasty man and it endeared him to her.

“I wanted to thank you for your wonderful gift, I shall treasure it always.” Eddy stared at her, his blush intensifying. Thus, her endearment for him intensified.

He had absolutely no idea what gift she was talking about because of course neither Foggoty nor Moggy had bothered to tell him of their doings on his behalf.

“I, I’m so glad you liked it.” Eddy said, hoping she might mention what it was.

“It was so clever of you to buy me a hat, of course I don’t wear them often, only to church and then only for high holidays, but it was a wonderful thought.” Thank you, thank you, Eddy could have kissed her, ‘wanted’ to kiss her.

“Well, I have no doubt that my poor choice of hat would look fabulous on you, as would anything, you are so beautiful. You make the sky bluer and the grass greener.” Phoneisha’s heart skipped, just a little and a small cloud of butterflies fluttered in her stomach.

“Oh, Mr. Whistlepooth that is so kind of you to say, but surely you need a new prescription for your glasses, I am not beautiful and I never have been. I’m quite aware of that fact, there are a number of beautiful women in the village as I’m sure you know. I do not rank amongst them, I am quite plain.”

Eddy stood up straighter than he had before, his haircut forgotten. “Phoneisha, I hope I may call you that? There is one thing that I will not stand for and that is anyone calling you plain, including you. You are not plain to me, you are beautiful and that’s an end to it.”

Phoneisha looked upon Eddy Whistlepooth with new eyes. Suddenly the butterflies were all over her stomach and her heart was skipping two and fro.

“Eddy, I hope I may call you that? If you were to ask me to go for a cream tea this very minute, I would say yes. I have closed the library for the day, quite an extraordinary thing for me to do but there it is.” Eddy smiled and held out his hand.

“Phoneisha, would you like to go with me for a cream tea this very moment? I understand you closed the library today, a very wise move on your part I might say.”

Phoneisha giggled, something she had never, ever done before. She had to stop to listen to herself for a moment.

She held out her hand and held his, “Yes, I would love a cream tea Eddy. Oh, and by-the-way. I love your new haircut.”