Housewife of the Year

                                         By Jeff Baker

            “Me? Housewife Of the Year? Oh, my word! I mean, I never expected! Why yes, I read Suburb and Garden Magazine every month but I never expected to find your reporters right at my door! What? Verification? Oh, yes. I sent in the entry form three months ago. Yes, my husband and I have lived here for ten years. Been married fifteen years. We met because his college roommate wanted to date me and asked my future husband if I wanted to go out. Oh, but I don’t think I’m Housewife of the Year material. Oh, you want to take my picture? Now? Here? Oh, I can send you one? Oh, good. This face just doesn’t do well in the morning. What? Oh, seventeen years ago. That was when we first met when he was studying at the university; he had these ideas of transferring the brains from one living being into another. I was his test subject. No, I don’t know where he found the gorilla. What’s that? Why didn’t he put me back the way I was? Well, his roommate ran off with the gorilla that looks like me now but I guess still acts like a gorilla. Well, some men like that. Children? No, we decided against having kids. We have each other and that’s enough. And this nice little house, it’s so much better than that dank old dungeon laboratory we used to have. You want to see the garden? Oh, that’s why you brought the camera. Yes, the flowers are lovely this time of year. And now that I’m a gorilla I can carry those big bags of…where? Oh, second door on the left. Yes. And when we’re all done could I interest you in a banana?”

                                                    —end—

            AUTHOR’S NOTE: There was a writer for the horror magazines in the 20s or 30s who only had one plot: Mad scientist transfers girl’s brain into body of a gorilla. I always wanted to do a riff on that one! —–jsb