While on our honeymoon in England, Potts and I picked up a collection of Roald Dahl's short stories to read on the train from Falmouth to London. We came upon one story that involved a beekeeper, his wife, and their frail infant daughter. The baby refuses to eat until the beekeeper comes up with a very creepy plan to make her gain weight. And to this day in the Potts/McCoy household, one of us need only utter the title of this story to make the other break out in shudders: "Royal Jelly."
So here's to the works of Roald Dahl, skeeving out children and adults alike for over fifty years, in the best way possible.
From The Witches:
"Grandmamma," I said, "if it's a dark night, how can a witch smell the difference between a child and a grown-up."
"Because grown-ups don't give out stink-waves," she said. "Only children do that."
"But I don't really give out stink-waves, do I?" I said. "I'm not giving them out at this very moment, am I?"
"Not to me you aren't," my grandmother said. "To me you are smelling like raspberries and cream. But to a witch you would be smelling absolutely disgusting."
"What would I be smelling of?" I asked.
"Dogs' droppings," my grandmother said.
I reeled. I was stunned. "Dogs' droppings!" I cried. "I am not smelling of dogs' droppings! I don't believe it! I won't believe it!"
"What's more," my grandmother said, speaking with a touch of relish, "to a witch you'd be smelling of fresh dogs' droppings."
"That simply is not true!" I cried. "I know I am not smelling of dogs' droppings, stale or fresh!"
"There's no point in arguing about it," my grandmother said. "It's a fact of life."
To celebrate Dahl Day yourself, take a quiz, use the word 'gobblefunk' in a sentence, or read up on Dahl's short stories for adults. And check out "Royal Jelly." Eek.
In other news, not everyone is happy about Roald Dahl Day.