Rippa Van Winkle

Whoa! Where am I? What happened?

I feel really different. I don’t ache. I’m not creaky. I don’t feel … old!

Fingernails! I’ve got fingernails. How? I’m an old man!

WOW! I just felt my face. My beard’s gone. My WRINKLES are gone!  I’m young again!

YIKES! I’ve got, um… I’M FEMALE!!! I don’t know how to be a female! I have to get up. Can I get up without getting on my hands and knees first? Yes, I can! This is so cool.

Wait a minute. What’s “cool?” I don’t know that word. I mean, it means not hot, not cold—in between. At least, it used to.

Then, she remembers …

She had not only been a man but a real old man who had a wife. The battle axe. The nag.  But, no more!

As old and tired Rip van W. had rested under that tree, he had wished for his youth back but not as a man who had to be the hard working bread winner, but as a young, female who could stay at home which was, to him, the easy part.

But fate changed the plans a bit.

Rippa looked down at her old man’s clothes. This WILL NOT DO. She multi-thinks: I am a female. I am young again. I was married to an old nag. Will she be young again, too? Probably not, BUT, she’s small and thin, so maybe I can at least grab some clothes, and vamoose! Pronto! (love these new words!).

She is almost “home,” when she hears hollering:

“Rip Van Winkle, where have you been! You take off without saying a word to me! I WILL NOT STAND FOR THI …who’re you?”

Oops.  Her/Rip’s wife is home, and she’s young! But still a battle axe. “Hello, Ma’am, I wonder if you have some female clothes I could buy from you?” Rippa reaches down in the old overall pockets, and all she comes up with is lint. “Um, on second thought, could I borrow somethin’ female until I can pay you for it?”

“What are you doing in my husband’s clothes? Where is the lazy sloucher?”

“Ma’am, I found ‘em on the ground, near a big tree, and…

Where are yer reglar clothes, then?

“Back there, soakin’ wet, from crossin’ the river. You wouldn’t have a nice dress, would you, by any chance?

Rippa ended up with one of her/Rip’s wife’s old dresses that was frayed, but her shoes were too small, so she had to wear her old work boots.

After a funeral was held for Rip, his wife’s personality gradually changed. Turned out she was good with figures and after a few courses, she became a CPA. Rippa admired her for that and they became friends.

Rippa had always wanted nice shoes. She knew what kind she wanted and decided to design some. She sent the designs to the owner of a shoe factory who happened to be a woman, and they were a big hit.

Her/Rip’s wife decided to advertise Rippa’s shoes in all the elegant women’s magazines and the two of them became very successful.

Was it fate that magically turned lazy old Rip van Winkle into Rippa, an energetic young female designer of women’s shoes? And was it fate that made Rip’s wife young again and a whiz with numbers? Surely it was fate that the two not only became friends but business partners.

I don’t know; the whole thing sounds fishy to me, but I’ve always loved weird stories that end well,” and by gum (that’s an old Rip expression) this one sure seems to be one of those. Don’tcha think?