An unfortunate fairy tale

Once upon a time there were three sisters, Constance, Guillerma, and Vorticia.  They lived with their parents, George and Georgina, in the small town of Eisenstadt, Austria.  They were very middle class, as their parents were practicing phrenologists, the only practice in town, living comfortably but not in extravagance.

The three girls, though similar in appearance, were all radically different in personality and outlook. Constance, the oldest, was very shy, with particularly bad eyesight.  Though painfully shy, when stimulated in the right way, could easily out argue anyone on the superiority of the feminine gender.  Though centuries ahead of her time, Constance fought hard and brave for women's rights.  Most viewed the eldest daughter as rather queer and avoided any interaction with her, if at all possible.

Guillerma, the second eldest, could not have been any more different than Constance. Very athletic and quick to laugh, Guillerma was the one person in town who took control of a room only seconds after entering it.  She was the life of the party and everyone's friend.  At least that was the perspective she projected to all in her community.

Then there was Vorticia. There were many animals that could have been compared to Vorticia, none of them endearingly, and even more so, none as a favor to the animals.  She carried jet black hair that half covered a perpetual scowl, hair that she intentionally chopped crooked and short, just to be contrary.  She rarely bathed and spoke mainly to herself in barely audible grunts and mutters. Most people avoided her, usually for fear of some sort of physical or verbal abuse.  All avoided eye contact.

One morning, the five personalities of bizarre phrenology family sat at breakfast, Guillerma chattering away about nothing in particular, and Vorticia, sitting sideways in her chair, ate her oatmeal with her fingers and muttered about "that damn Bargeld family."  A knock on the door silenced everyone at the table and Guillerma quickly stood and skittered to the door, hopeful for some more interesting company. 

The unusual figure that stood on the doorstep, now visible to the family, could not have been anymore unexpected.  A small, elderly man wearing a long white beard and a long black robe simply looked at Guillerma and smiled.  Without knowing why, Guillerma invited him in.  The man replied a simple thank you and came into the house, seating himself at the dinner table.  The matron of the house automatically served him a bowl of oatmeal.  The man ate in silence, after offering a short simple prayer of thanks.  The family sat in silence, watching the man eat.  Constance felt a warm attraction to the elderly man, though he offered no fine arguments.  Guillerma liked the man very much, though he he only spoken a few sentences the entire time.  Vorticia found the man very intriguing, though his smile seemed to see into her soul.
The man finished his oatmeal, then spoke.  "Thank you for your considerate generosity.  This old monk doesn't see much good in the world anymore."  George rose to his and bellowed, "monk?!  I'll have no religious lunacy in this house."  And with that, he grabbed the old man by the back of his robe, jerked him to his feet, and in one motion, opened the door and threw him to the street.  The girls could only gasp and watch in horror.  The old monk struggled to his feet, turned and crossed himself and walked away. 

It would be great to be able to say that there was a nice, storybook ending to this tale.  But it's almost like it cannot be ascertained.  After the unfortunate situation with the old monk, everything stated going south for the family.  Irritability became the song that was sung.  One could almost see the black cloud hanging over the house.  Phrenology clients came less and less until the door was closed for good.  By their own admission, their deep seated grumpiness was their own fault.

Eventually, the family name was forgotten.

Agatha and Tubbie

The two friends had been training for months.  As far as names go, their names fit their personalities.  Agatha was very traditional and old fashioned.  Tubbie was, by all accounts and by the opinion of all who knew her, tubby, corpulent, large, big-boned, full-figured, etc., ad nauseam.

So as it currently stood, the two friends had committed to exercising, sometimes together, sometimes apart, but always faithfully and according to schedule.  So when Agatha stopped by Tubbie's house, late that Tuesday afternoon, to find Tubbie eating ice cream directly from the one-gallon container, she was slightly concerned and irritated.

"Tubbie!" she exclaimed, probably too loudly. Tubbie looked upon her with an expression of genuine surprise.  "For what possible reason are you bellowing at me?"  Tubbie blurted out, a small dribble of ice cream escaping from the corner of her mouth.  Agatha paused and tried to comprehend Tubbie's response.  Her mouth opened two or three times but failed to produce any sound.  "You are eating a gallon of ice cream, still wearing your pajamas, while I have just returned from a three-mile-run. I thought we had an agreement?"  "Oh, but we do have an agreement," Tubbie responded, still slightly confused.  "I have not once deviated from that agreement, in the least."  With that she shoveled another large bite of Rocky Road into her mouth, her large eyes looking upon her dear friend, somewhat pleadingly.

"But...but...you, by all normal definitions of the word, are deviating as we speak.  Grossly so, in fact."  Agatha looked upon Tubbie and as she did, she could almost see the light bulb turn on over her head.

"Oh, I understand now."  Tubbie responded through nuts and chocolate.  "See, here is the thing.  I've been reading Derrida lately and I've come to understand that words are what we make them.  It seems that your definition of diet and exercise is radically different than mine.  Not truer or falser, just different.  I'm sorry for the confusion, but I hope you'll understand.  You are a dear friend after all."  Tubbie continued to look upon Agatha, a look of genuine love in her eyes.  Agatha, on the other hand, again tried to speak, but failed again.

She simply gave Tubbie a hug, her hands not quite reaching all the way around and turned, walking away slowly down the sidewalk.