Betsy's Last Legs (Microfiction)

Welcome my dear, come in put your feet up and have a nice cup of tea! I decided to scribble "Betsy" after a friend put out a little Facebook request for stories "for a project". Hmm I thought, why not! But the request was a tough one, with a word count set at only 150 it would have to be tiny. I failed and the story ended up closer to 180 words, but no matter, because what I present to you now dear reader is the re-edit... Yes I went crazy and started inserting words all over the place. Not quite willy-nilly you'll be glad to know (well almost). This version stands at a mighty 290 words, yes count them if you doubt me, I dare you. Or you could just take my word for it (why not I've an honest face). For your entertainment, I present to you "Betsy's Last Legs", enjoy!

‘D’you know that Alanis Morissette track, you know the one, she warbles on about a load of “Ironic” shit and none of it is…

Yeah well, today I was standing on the corner outside my house and this fat woman was riding a mobility scooter up the road… No, let me finish. The scooter was getting slower and slower and then she turned up that street almost outside my place, you know the really steep one, and it just stopped… No, I didn’t laugh, sniggered a bit maybe… She struggled out of her seat. Looked at the scooter, gave it a kick, and then looked up the street almost in tears. I thought, at first, she was just upset at the thought of doing some exercise. I couldn’t stand it anymore; it was tragic, watching her wheeze her way up the hill. So I caught her up and offered to lend a hand.’

***

‘Oh Vera, I think I’m goin’ to have to get a new battery for Betsy… No, flat as pancake, and she was on charge all night. Poor thing almost got me home. A nice young man wheeled her all the way up the hill for me… I know, I almost told him to leave her there and give me the push, could you imagine his young hands all over me… Cheeky cow! Although, he was quite dishy. No, I didn’t, and I didn’t give him a thank you kiss either. Honestly Vera, your mind is in the gutter. I gave him something for his trouble though… No, not my phone number. Will you behave; you’re as bad as our Shelly! His reward for rescuing this ‘fair maiden’ was a nice fresh doughnut… Of course they’re jam!’