Mrs.Swine
“It’s quite absurd,” Mrs.Swine said. “Pigs are delicate creatures, we never had any of those awful feasting habits you talk of and our family is one healthy union I can’t see broken apart by any means, your stingy words less of all”.
A pause. Everyone went back to their knitting. Mrs.Sparrow sighed at last and said:
“Maybe it is just an old stereotype, whatyouknow.”
“Pah! - pah’d Mrs.Duck, those steereeotypes exist for a reason, don’t you know.
“Is there a reason for everything?” asked Mrs.Pelican.
“I believe that there is a reason for everything: that reason is to reproduce,” said Mrs.Duck most insistently, as if anyone questioned her reasons for breeding so intensely and diligently.
“So stereotypes exist in order to be reproduced?” asked Mrs.Pelican.
“Oh, shush!” Mrs.Duck set down her half-finished scarf and headed towards the stove.
“Oh dear”, sighed Mrs.Sparrow. “I sure hope a cup of tea will calm her down, youknoweet.”
But Mrs.Duck had something else in mind.
She set the oven to 400 degrees Fahrenheit and calmly tucked herself inside. It proved to be a bit troublesome, since Mrs.Duck gained some considerable weight over the season.
“Get me out in 45 minutes, will ya.”
The ladies turned back to their scarves and cardigans in silence. Since Mrs.Duck left, there was nothing much to discuss as everyone else in the room found Mrs.Swine’s company most agreeable and dared not accuse her of any faults generally attributed to her troubled species.
Soon enough Mrs.Pelican’s alarm clock gave out a frightful buzz and died a quick and painless death. Mrs.Sparrow glided over to the oven and opened the rusty door. Inside it was darker than at the end of the world and it was much too late to care about replacing light bulbs.
“Are you there, Mrs.Duck?” Mrs.Sparrow inquired.
A few affirmative grunts later, Mrs.Duck strolled out triumphantly carrying a heavy old book. It might’ve been aged artificially through Mrs.Duck’s exploits and the oven’s overwhelming darkness and heat.
Mrs.Duck threw the huge book on the table and stopped to catch her breath. She was entirely covered in coal and dust.
“The library sure is in bad shape.”
Replies refused to follow.
“There.”
Mrs.Duck opened the book with a heavy thump and looked up a page somewhere in the middle.
“Pigs are terrible terrible creatures, who can’t knit, never shave and eat their own toenails.”
“Now really,” Mrs.Sparrow protested. “Do have some respect for our guest! Where did you find that old Prejudipedia?”
“No, no, it’s fine,” said Mrs.Swine. “I know I’m not welcome here and I shall then take my leave.”
Mrs.Sparrow dashed across the room and back twitting words of love for Mrs.Swine and her crafty scarf that had the joyful pattern reminiscent both of blueberries and cherries. Even Mrs.Pelican seemed to be slightly upset by the whole drama, but decided to keep silent. Mrs.Swine packed her knitting tools and stumbled heavily towards the oven. She set the heat and proper regime with a dismal look. In the same very decadent fashion she positioned herself inside the oven and shut the door. Soon it was all pitch black inside, Mrs.Swine’s eyes glowed for a second and snuffed out.
The rest of the knitting session went in silence only with Mrs.Duck smiling infrequently and letting out a modest hmph or two.
When an hour passed, she grabbed the book and shoved it into the oven.
“Looks like I’ll need to renew my pass soon.”