Gypsy Rose: Part I

Meh tales begin a long time ago in homeland Bulgaria. I was born to a goot Gypsy fam'ly where we had much soup an horses an wonderful times together. Me Mama was the hardest worker of our fam'ly because she would go out from seven-turty in de morning to ten-turty at night. She would, she would play de tweedle deedle and ze oompa oompa on ze fiddle an she would collect money from de reech touristy folk in a little-ish jar of clay. Den she would'st come home wit de money and she would say, "Fam'ly, we are to have a feast when I get enough money for our Gypsy ways!" Me Mama, she was a bold woman in that way.

But you see, sometimes der was not enough money to be had to buys de food of de market, an so we had to make soup from whatever we coot find. I remembers the bestest soup we made to eat was made of our shoelaces all combined. We called it Soupa Italia because me Papa had said zat de Italians ated their soup wit lots of shoestring noodles, an you know, I felt very proud that us Gypsy family could'st have the same soup as the Italians, especially when we were living up high in homeland Bulgaria. But you see, sometimes der was nothing like shoelace or de bark off trays to be ated, so we had to go and eat some of our Gypsy horses in a soup. It was not bad soup, but you see, me Papa solded ze horses each summer in homeland Bulgaria to the same reech touristy folk dat gaved zer moneys to me Mama for her fiddle playing, an so eating ze horses for winter foods meant me Papa had less horses to sell. But even doe winter could be harshest, we still made it troo and troo an it was good life, being a little Gypsy girl.

I lived as such until the Dee-See Effess came over from de Emericas and she saids dat childrens should have better life than in Gypsy camps, an so tis Dee-See Effess took me from me Mama an me Papa an all meh Gypsy fam'ly an de horses. Zen dey gave me to a goot Emerican fam'ly an I learned to be a goot Emerican Gypsy child, I did, even zoe der was no Gypsy ways to be had an no horses or Soup Italia.

Authoress' Note: This began as the invention of a rainy day, as many of my stories do, and I finally got around to writing it down when free time chanced by. Enjoy, because things are about to get strangely funny.