Louise and Swifty

Louise woke up in the butter dish - again. Only this time it wasn’t placed in the refrigerator. It was left on the kitchen table with the glass lid in place.

“What happened?” said Louise

“You’ve angered the giant’s housekeeper," said the voice.

“Who said that?”

“I did,” said the snail who was buried cozily in a pat of butter, licking his chops.

“Why are you here?” said Louise.

“I’m just here for the butter, said Swifty. “The giant picked me up off the floor and considered for a moment whether or not I’d make a worthy appetizer. He gave me a good sniff, sneezed, and decided not. Then he dropped me on the table with all the other table scraps and that’s when I spotted the butter dish. I love butter. I know, I know - the irony”

“How’d I end up on the table?” said Louise.

“The housekeeper spotted you hiding in the broom,” said Swifty. “She picked you up, took a big whiff and decided you needed a good scrubbing. She said you smelled trashy. That’s when you bit her. The housekeeper mumbled a few choice sailor-worthy obscenities and put you on the table and went to fetch the giant to lodge a complaint about violence in the workplace. That’s when you spotted a puddle of the giant’s grog.”

“Ah, the grog,” said Louise. “I remember now.

“Me thinks you had better leave the grog to giants and other grog-worthy drinkers,” said Swifty. “You’re in over your head, kid.”

“Then what happened?” said Louise.

“The housekeeper returned with the giant and he put on his ‘I’m the mighty giant’ face and went through his whole fee-fi-fo-fum scary giant repertoire. And you suggested he stuff those tired old bits in his crusty knickers.”

“Then what?”

“You passed out and were placed here in the butter dish. And I wish you hadn’t! Did you know that grog is very gassy? That we are entombed in a butter dish with no ventilation! That you made my antennae curl?”

“Sorry,” said Louise.

“Sorry don’t get it done, sister,” said Swifty.
“Next time leave the grog to the grog meisters.”

“Now what do we do?” said Louise.

”We become philosophical. Write our memoirs in butter. Get them published. Win many awards. Become an inspiration to a whole new generation. Tour China with our award winning book. Get thrown into a Chinese prison because you say wise-guy things to the authorities and and now we get to write our new memoirs on Chinese toilet paper. Which gets published posthumously because we are executed in a swift and orderly manner. You are executed in the normal firing squad way. I‘m dipped in delightful cup of warm, oozy butter and eaten by the Chinese premiere!

“How the heck should I know what we should do now! I left my wizard bag in my other shell! But If you climb on my back and raise your arms you should be able to to reach the top of the butter dish and lift it a bit. In which case I will move as slowly as possible until we have enough room to crawl over the lip of the dish and out onto the table.

“Nice plan," said Louise

“You’re welcome," said Swifty.

Once out of the butter dish Louise introduced Swifty to a puddle of the giant’s grog. And in no time they were singing tavern songs and looking for a dart board.

“I think I peed in my pants,” said a polluted Swifty.

“You’re not wearing any pants,” said Louise.

“Then where do I put my hands?"

“You don’t have any of those, either," said Louise.

“Then I guess darts are out!” said Swifty.

They both laughed and sang till they passed out in a boozy hug.

Where the future may find these two is anyone's guess.

Let’s just hope it finds them together.