Laura on Life

A witch's wart

By Laura Snyder

[July 10, 2008]  You know, I think I have finally figured out why the proverbial witch has warts. Every time you read a story about a witch or see one on a television screen, she is always depicted as having some sort of deformity (a long nose, a wart, red eyes, etc.) unless, of course, she's a good witch. I'm going to share a secret with you: It isn't because she's evil that she has a wart; it's because she has a wart that she's evil.

Allow me to enlighten you. Has the following scenario ever happened to you ... or could it?

You wake up in the morning feeling fine and ready to start your day. You go into the bathroom to take your shower. When you are finished, you look into the mirror and see, to your dismay, a pimple the size of Montana right in the middle of your face. Your good mood slips a bit. Then you think, "Well, maybe a little makeup will help."

You slather on some industrial-strength makeup that you've saved just for such an occasion. You smile at yourself in the mirror and think, "That's better."

You greet your husband in the bedroom with a kiss. He kisses you back, then says, "You know, you've got a pimple there."

That's it! Your good mood goes down the toilet. "Thank you for pointing that out. I might have missed it otherwise!" you snarl.

You stomp into your closet and pull out something black to match your mood and to help flatter your figure. Hopefully, no one will notice the gargantuan zit on your face.

The kids are up now, so you head to the kitchen, where, after their foraging for food, they have left every cupboard door wide open. One kid wants to know who hit you in the face.

You grit your teeth and snap, "Nobody hit me!" Then you start slamming cupboard doors like a demented Vanna White.

The sound startles the children, and arms and legs fly spastically in all directions. A full box of green sugared cereal falls off the table and spills all over the floor.

Grrrrr. You bend down to pick up the box and crack your head on the edge of the kitchen table. Sitting on the floor, you rub your head in agony, and your carefully coiffed hair now looks like a Phyllis Diller wig.

Your youngest child comes over and gives you a sticky green cereal kiss and hug, then points to your pimple and asks if you need a "boo-boo band."

"No, a band-aid won't help. Now please eat your breakfast."

You get up and head for the closet to grab a broom to clean up the spilled green cereal. On the way, you discover that it is now also decorating your face because of the sweet, but sticky kiss. OK. First, a stop at the kitchen sink to throw some water on the sticky parts of your face.

You forgot about the heavy-duty makeup you have on, and the green dye from the cereal is merely absorbed as you rub water on it. Groaning disgustedly, knowing you'll have to redo your makeup, you get the broom and start sweeping.

As you are sweeping the floor with angry vigor, your husband shows up and asks if you've made any coffee.

You stand there with broom in hand, black clothes, green makeup, hair standing straight up and that giant pimple in the middle of your face, glaring malevolently at this dear man.

He looks at you in shock, eyes wide and puts up both hands in front of him as he backs slowly out of the kitchen. "That's OK; I'll get some on the way to work." As the front door closes swiftly behind him, you suddenly realize what you must look like and you start to laugh hysterically. Only, what actually spews forth sounds suspiciously like a cackle.

It could happen ... couldn't it?

[By LAURA SNYDER]

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