From Harry #2

Just Another Monday Morning

Note: The characters in this story bare no resemblance to anyone living or dead that I have ever meet in real life. That is except for Harold. He’s a strange one, he is.

Slowly the sound creeps into her consciousness. “Phone” she mumbles. The ringing continues.

“PHONE” she says louder and shoves an elbow into the ribs of the knobby-kneed Scot laying beside her.

He responds with a “harrumph” and bangs his arm on the side table as he strives to locate the source of the ringing without opening his eyes.

“H’lo,” he listens to the receiver. “Here,” she feels the phone thrust against her cheek. She groans and attempts to sound human.

“Hello? Yes, you did wake me. What’s the problem?” She knew there was a problem. The assistant day manager would not be calling otherwise. She interjects a “yes” or an “I see” as the voice on the other end continued on, but she is doing a slow burn.

“Listen. As you well know, I’ve been in bed with the flu for over three weeks. I haven’t a clue who is taking the spare sheets and pillow cases from the second floor, even if the closet is right beside my office! Tell security to figure it out!” She presses the off button on the receiver and starts to hand it back to her husband as a whirling dervish with golden yellow hair flies into the room and dives on the bed between her two parents.

“Oh good, Mommy. You’re up. I’m hungry. What’s for breakfast?”

Before she can answer two somewhat older girls barrel into the room. Daughter 5 puts her hands on her hips in disgust.

“Mother, tell Liz to stop trying on my bras! She’s stretching them out of shape!”

“I am not. I didn't, and besides the cups are too small”, daughter 4 replies smugly.

“SEE!”

Daughters 2 and 3 come bouncing into the room.

“What’s going on?”

“Where’s breakfast?”

“How did Annie get in here?”

“Can we have waffles?

She looks over at her husband for assistance, but his head is buried under a couple of pillows.

“A lot of help you are,” she says as she boots him with a small pajama-clad foot. He rolls over and begins tickle fighting with daughter 5. Daughter 4 jumps in giggling wildly.

“The only ones that aren't in here are those blasted fairies. I am positive they deleted chapter four from my computer yesterday.”

As if on cue, there is a loud crash in the hallway followed by the blur of a pair of blue wings that fly in through the door and start bobbing and weaving among the assembled family members.

“THAT’S IT! I'VE HAD IT!” She grabs a copy of a recent journal from a well-known tract society and swings at one of the fae. She stands, but quickly ducks as she is buzzed by the other. She starts to throw, checks the volume and number, and then flings the periodical at the retreating fairies.

“HAROLD!” She stands with her pajama-footed feet apart as she brings herself to her full four foot five inch stature on the bed. “Harold, where are you?”

The butler politely pokes his head in the door.

“Ah, good morning Ma’am. I see the entire household is up. Breakfast in a jiffy.” He pauses for only a moment and goes on. “I am so sorry about that Fenton glass bowl. I know it was a favorite of yours.”

Taking two steps into the room, he sets down a pile of linen. She stares at him with mouth agape as she tries to decide if he is the sanest person in the room or the most insane.

“I’ll just leave these here and change the beds after breakfast. Right then. Who wants to stir the batter for the waffles?”

As the butler guides the girls out of the room, she looks over at the clean white linen. Clearly stamped on the corner of the sheets are the words ‘Property of ****** Hotels’