The diminutive yet chubby woman opened her door in response to an urgent knocking.
She adjusted the wire-rimmed glasses on the edge of her short nose so she could make out the strangers on her porch.
There were three ominous figures, two men and one woman, all dressed in black slacks and black jackets. They each wore a black necktie over a crisp white shirt and mirrored sunglasses.
“Are you Ms. M. Goose?” The taller man asked in a blunt tone.
“Why yes, but everyone calls me Mother.”
He flashed a badge too quickly for her to see. “I’m Agent Riley. These are my associates: Agent Patterson and Agent Williams. We’re from the Bureau for Literary Tolerance, The B.L.T.”
“I don’t believe I’ve heard of that particular agency.”
“Well,” he said with a sniff while hiking up his trousers, “we prefer to keep our names out of the headlines.”
“This really is a lovely surprise, an old woman like me doesn’t get much company.”
“This isn’t a social call madam. Were here on government business. Are you responsible for this propaganda? ” Agent Patterson withdrew a slim hard-cover book from a plain brown envelope.
The old woman’s face crinkled as she smiled, “Why yes, that is one of my books.”
“Did you get that Patterson?”
“Sure did chief, she’s not even denying it.”
“That old book has been making children smile for generations. Come in, all of you, I just pulled a tray of butter cookies out of the oven, I’ll put on some tea and will sort out this little misunderstanding, whatever it is. I have a delightful orange pekoe and lavender blend.”
“Nice try lady, you can keep your tea and cookies,” the agents filed into the small home. “Quite a place you have, I guess we know where you spend your filthy lucre.”
“I’ve lived here for a long time, it is a lovely cottage, thank you. Why don’t you tell me why you came here today.”
“We’ve got some questions about the book Goose.”
“Yes, certainly I’ll help however I can, only please call me Mother.”
“Lets start off with a few soft balls shall we? Are you familiar with this Georgie Porgie character?”
“Certainly,” the woman said with a nod. She sat in an overstuffed chair and motioned for the others to sit as well. She smoothed the folds of her polka-dotted skirt.
“According to you he ‘kissed the girls and made them cry.’ Do you think children today are in need of a primer on sexual battery?”
“Oh, sweet goodness no.”
The female agent spoke next. She took the book and turned to a certain page. “There is also the question of Jack Sprat’s wife. The woman you blatantly state: can eat no lean. Is the obesity epidemic in this country funny to you Ms. Goose?”
“Well,” the older woman said patting her tummy, “I actually have quite a serious sweet tooth myself.”
“I don’t guess you have any real psychological training in how devastating body image issues effect young woman.”
“Take it easy Patterson, we’ve got bigger fish to fry here today.” Agent Riley stopped the woman whose tone was getting increasingly terse. “I will tell you what sticks in my craw madam. I read your ‘little storybook’, I see names like Jack and Jill and Peter. Where are Esperanza, Moesha and Jamal? Do we say to these children: ‘sorry kids I guess you don’t have the right complexion for a bedtime story.”
The old woman became exasperated. “No, you mustn’t think that. I am not trying to exclude anyone. I am just retelling the stories that I was told as a girl.”
“Did you get that Patterson?”
“Sure did chief, it sounds like she’s confessing to plagiarism if you ask me.”
“My goodness no,” Mother Goose said shaking her head. “You have it all wrong.”
“Really? And I guess we ‘have it all wrong’ when we notice, in your writing, there is an exclusion of same-sex relationships that borders on the fanatical. Are you homophobic Ms. Goose?”
“Homopho… I’m sorry dear I don’t know what that is.”
“Your bouts of ignorance are pretty convenient; aren’t they lady?” agent Patterson snapped.
“You know, our counterpart in the United Kingdom has successfully changed The Three Little Pigs to the Three Little Puppies. That means one less generation that will grow learning to recite your offensive anti-Muslim manifesto.
“Why would anyone be offended by poem about three little pigs?
“We are Federal agents Ms. Goose; we’ll ask the questions.”
“Cool it Patterson, I don’t want you to go all Rumplestiltskin on her. She’s not worth it.”
“Sorry chief, this creep just gets under my skin.”
The old women threw up her hands. “I have had enough of this rude treatment in my own home Agent Riley. Please go or I will have to call my barrister.”
“It takes a lot more than that to scare a fed lady.” He walked over to the woman and grabbed her off her chair and pressed his nose into hers. “You and your kind make me sick. You sit on your tuffet and spit out Euro-centric, homophobic, and misogynistic rhymes like seeds at a watermelon-eating contest. And the whole world suffers for it. Your day of reckoning is close at hand.”
“Chief, we better get out of here. We don’t want another inquest like we had at the Charming Estate last month.”
Agent Reilly dropped the woman and took a series of deep breaths to calm down.
He tucked in his shirt and stepped past the woman who had dissolved into tears. “Let's get out of here,” he said motioning to the other agents. Going to the open door he let out a disgusted sigh. “God almighty Williams, why did you park under that tree? Do you see what her goose did to our windshield?”
“Geese don’t live in trees chief.”
“Shut up Williams.”
She adjusted the wire-rimmed glasses on the edge of her short nose so she could make out the strangers on her porch.
There were three ominous figures, two men and one woman, all dressed in black slacks and black jackets. They each wore a black necktie over a crisp white shirt and mirrored sunglasses.
“Are you Ms. M. Goose?” The taller man asked in a blunt tone.
“Why yes, but everyone calls me Mother.”
He flashed a badge too quickly for her to see. “I’m Agent Riley. These are my associates: Agent Patterson and Agent Williams. We’re from the Bureau for Literary Tolerance, The B.L.T.”
“I don’t believe I’ve heard of that particular agency.”
“Well,” he said with a sniff while hiking up his trousers, “we prefer to keep our names out of the headlines.”
“This really is a lovely surprise, an old woman like me doesn’t get much company.”
“This isn’t a social call madam. Were here on government business. Are you responsible for this propaganda? ” Agent Patterson withdrew a slim hard-cover book from a plain brown envelope.
The old woman’s face crinkled as she smiled, “Why yes, that is one of my books.”
“Did you get that Patterson?”
“Sure did chief, she’s not even denying it.”
“That old book has been making children smile for generations. Come in, all of you, I just pulled a tray of butter cookies out of the oven, I’ll put on some tea and will sort out this little misunderstanding, whatever it is. I have a delightful orange pekoe and lavender blend.”
“Nice try lady, you can keep your tea and cookies,” the agents filed into the small home. “Quite a place you have, I guess we know where you spend your filthy lucre.”
“I’ve lived here for a long time, it is a lovely cottage, thank you. Why don’t you tell me why you came here today.”
“We’ve got some questions about the book Goose.”
“Yes, certainly I’ll help however I can, only please call me Mother.”
“Lets start off with a few soft balls shall we? Are you familiar with this Georgie Porgie character?”
“Certainly,” the woman said with a nod. She sat in an overstuffed chair and motioned for the others to sit as well. She smoothed the folds of her polka-dotted skirt.
“According to you he ‘kissed the girls and made them cry.’ Do you think children today are in need of a primer on sexual battery?”
“Oh, sweet goodness no.”
The female agent spoke next. She took the book and turned to a certain page. “There is also the question of Jack Sprat’s wife. The woman you blatantly state: can eat no lean. Is the obesity epidemic in this country funny to you Ms. Goose?”
“Well,” the older woman said patting her tummy, “I actually have quite a serious sweet tooth myself.”
“I don’t guess you have any real psychological training in how devastating body image issues effect young woman.”
“Take it easy Patterson, we’ve got bigger fish to fry here today.” Agent Riley stopped the woman whose tone was getting increasingly terse. “I will tell you what sticks in my craw madam. I read your ‘little storybook’, I see names like Jack and Jill and Peter. Where are Esperanza, Moesha and Jamal? Do we say to these children: ‘sorry kids I guess you don’t have the right complexion for a bedtime story.”
The old woman became exasperated. “No, you mustn’t think that. I am not trying to exclude anyone. I am just retelling the stories that I was told as a girl.”
“Did you get that Patterson?”
“Sure did chief, it sounds like she’s confessing to plagiarism if you ask me.”
“My goodness no,” Mother Goose said shaking her head. “You have it all wrong.”
“Really? And I guess we ‘have it all wrong’ when we notice, in your writing, there is an exclusion of same-sex relationships that borders on the fanatical. Are you homophobic Ms. Goose?”
“Homopho… I’m sorry dear I don’t know what that is.”
“Your bouts of ignorance are pretty convenient; aren’t they lady?” agent Patterson snapped.
“You know, our counterpart in the United Kingdom has successfully changed The Three Little Pigs to the Three Little Puppies. That means one less generation that will grow learning to recite your offensive anti-Muslim manifesto.
“Why would anyone be offended by poem about three little pigs?
“We are Federal agents Ms. Goose; we’ll ask the questions.”
“Cool it Patterson, I don’t want you to go all Rumplestiltskin on her. She’s not worth it.”
“Sorry chief, this creep just gets under my skin.”
The old women threw up her hands. “I have had enough of this rude treatment in my own home Agent Riley. Please go or I will have to call my barrister.”
“It takes a lot more than that to scare a fed lady.” He walked over to the woman and grabbed her off her chair and pressed his nose into hers. “You and your kind make me sick. You sit on your tuffet and spit out Euro-centric, homophobic, and misogynistic rhymes like seeds at a watermelon-eating contest. And the whole world suffers for it. Your day of reckoning is close at hand.”
“Chief, we better get out of here. We don’t want another inquest like we had at the Charming Estate last month.”
Agent Reilly dropped the woman and took a series of deep breaths to calm down.
He tucked in his shirt and stepped past the woman who had dissolved into tears. “Let's get out of here,” he said motioning to the other agents. Going to the open door he let out a disgusted sigh. “God almighty Williams, why did you park under that tree? Do you see what her goose did to our windshield?”
“Geese don’t live in trees chief.”
“Shut up Williams.”
