The other day I came home and found this on my doorstep:
When P came home, I told him, but we still didn’t know the identity of our Fig Fairy even though I had asked around the neighbors.
P told me: “Don’t eat the figs!”
Because, um, we live in medieval times in which our nemici might foil our dastardly plans with tainted figs left outside our house? Please.
Needless to say, I ignored him and ate three of them later that evening.
And then was awake most of the night with a stomachache. Gah!
I pretended like I had no idea what I could’ve eaten to cause the discomfort as I certainly couldn’t tell P I ate the figs.
Thankfully, the pain passed and the next morning, before I discarded the figs, I ran into a woman who owned up to being our Fig Fairy. I breathed a huge sigh of relief as she’s certainly one of the nicest signore around–yet another one of my nonne in the village.
And only then did I tell P the full tale of the figs, which he, of course, found hilarious.
I’m thinking I’ll just listen to him next time — just in case.