Weisenheimer Myrtle

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Harold and I contrived to pull a most elaborate hoax upon his weisenheimer wife Myrtle.

She was always so desperate to control his every move and was especially hysterical about her precious car.

We got together with Clyde the Sculptor who agreed to sculpt an exact replica of Myrtle’s car crashed into a wall.

At last the ultimate moment arrived.

We followed her carefully into the right neighborhood, camera at the ready.

The stupefied smirk, and shrieks galore, resounded throughout the county for quite a while.

‘Her car doesn’t need fixing,’ we agreed. ‘But her wagon most certainly got some.’

Welcome back to Rochelle Wisoff~Fields’ weekly ~starting on a Wednesday~Friday Fictioneers. The froggy, as always, leads us into a magical wonderland.

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