A very cute story:
“Dear Mr. Little Guy,” she finally scrawled in big letters across a sheet of paper. “Do you like mints?” After some more pondering, she added, “and going to Camp Snoopy? Love, Shira.”
Mr. Little Guy was nowhere in sight this early August evening, so Shira stuffed her letter behind his door at the base of a hollowed out ash tree. It’s always open, and always full — of letters, pens, flowers and coins.
The elusive elf has enchanted Twin Citians ever since the 6-inch wooden door appeared eight years ago, just off a walking path around popular Lake Harriet. Double takes led to messages, and messages to answers — and somehow Mr. Little Guy keeps up, responding to the queries in typed notes half the size of business cards.
Some of his notes are left in the tree for children to find; others, if he has an address, are mailed. So many children visit that a patch of grass once leading to Mr. Little Guy’s door is now powdery dirt. A flower bed bordered by stone surrounds one side of the tree.
Share your cute, lovely stories here…
Maybe there is no-one who cares, sorry but women ae overpowered in our society.
My 13 year old son has started coming home from school and grabbing a bedsheet and making it into a toga. He looks totally unlike John Belushi.
Once upon a time, a long time ago, a milkmaid and her swain strolled through a flowery dell on the outskirts of their village. For many generations young maidens and their swains had trodden this pretty path. And for many generations older folks in the village would look up from their labours at the sight of a young woman and a young man slipping into dappled shade.
And they would smile and remember.
But this day would be different.
The milkmaid and her swain set off with intentions no different from those that had guided generations of feet.
But on this day the lovers were startled by a gnome standing stolidly in the middle of the path.
“Stop, please,” The gnome squeaked.
“What do you want?” the Swain demanded.
“I have watched village people come to this dell for a long time. I watch love grow and mature. It makes me happy. But it also makes me sad. I could take it no longer.”
“Why does it make you sad?” asked the milkmaid, suddenly seized by sympathy for the twisted littlle figure before her.
“Because I see love, but I can’t share it.”
“That’s because you’re short and ugly,” the swain chuckled.
“That’s a very cruel thing to say,” said the milkmaid. “And anyway, I don’t think your ugly, I think you’re … you’re cute.”
The gnome beamed. He drew little circles in the dust with his tiny boot.
“Do you really think I’m cute?’
“Yes. Why, yes I do,” replied the milkmaid.
“That’s the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me. I’m happy now.” And with that the gnome disappeared in a puff of fairy dust, never to be seen again.
“Cute?” Demanded the swain. “What do you mean by cute?”
“I don’t know,” replied the milkmaid. “I just know when I see it.”
“But there’s no such word as cute!”
“Well, there is now!”
And indeed the milkmaid was correct. For, from that flowery dell the word “cute” spread far and wide, perplexing and confusing swains, and the rest of mankind forever after.
The End.
Aw, that’s bute.
Everyone knows about Cute Overload, don’t they?
Once when my goddaughter was about two and a half, I looked after her for an hour or two while her mother was in court (as a lawyer, not a defendant). She had spent very little time away from her mum and wasn’t at all sure what she thought about being left with me, which hadn’t happened before, and in a public place at that.
We were to spend the time in the museum, where there would, or so we thought, be lots to divert her. But after about fifteen minutes she was starting to get jumpy and whimpery and I could see I was in for it. I said ‘Come and look at the dinosaur, darling.’ She didn’t want to look at the dinosaur. ‘Would you like to look at the big fish?’ She didn’t want to look at the big fish.
‘Okay, sweetie,’ I said, taking a deep breath, ‘what would you like to look at?’
She gazed up at me piteously. ‘I want to look at Mummy,’ she said.
Well, if there were a dinosaur and a big fish in the museum, there should have been a mummy, too.
Sorry, couldn’t resist. Still… v. cute. v. cute, indeed.
JPZ, I can’t believe I’ve never thought of that before. The Adelaide Museum has a pretty good Egyptian collection, too.
But the goddaughter is now a 19-year-old Aerospace Engineering student, and showed no interest whatever in the Louvre’s travelling Egyptian exhibition, currently here, when I suggested a visit to it over coffee this morning with her and her mother.
Perhaps she has an unhappy subconscious memory of that day.
I was taking small frightened child to the doctor’s. Telling him over and over that the doctor was nice, there was nothing to worry about. So intent on making child feel good, I trip on the footpath and fall flat on my face. Small child helps me up and tells me it was a good thing we were on the way to the doctor’s and I have nothing to worry about. They’re so cute at that age when anything Mummy says is right.