T minus 4 days and counting

Minerva Mink was in her hollow-log bungalow doing some light housework, washing the lunch dishes and vacuuming around her furniture; it was nothing major that involved excessive elbow grease, moving heavy objects, or industrial-strength cleansers.

She was dressed down an old faded pair of denim cutoff shorts and a faded O'Malley's Bar t-shirt from "Wet T-Shirt Nite At O'Malley's", sometime in the more casual days of her youth. The shorts hugged her hips like a second skin, and she knotted the t-shirt at her waist, baring a portion of her slender midriff, but for her, it was uncharacteristically laid-back.

Minerva admitted it to herself; she was a clotheshorse, a sartorial snob. She liked to dress both to look her best and to fit her mood, even when by herself.

She usually dressed to deliberately accentuate her figure and cultivate a sensual appearance, even in the privacy of her own home, unseen. The way she wore her luxuriant satiny velour-trimmed dressing gown, slipping off her shoulders, gapped open at her bosom and legs, the sash wound tightly around her waist, was seen by no one but her in her numerous mirrors, on her vanity table, her bathroom medicine chest, and her wall. The same with the burnt-orange designer-label spandex bodysuit. And the pink terrycloth cover-up she wore like a sarong. And her jogging ensemble, with the running shorts and tank top of satiny charmeuse fabric in baby blue.

Maybe later she would slip into one of her pastel sundresses and take her usual afternoon stroll down to the lake, to compose her usual diary entry, or even chat with Shellie the turtle. The wry reptile was becoming as close a confidante as Lola Bunny or Sawyer Somali used to be; and that in itself was an indication of the change in Minerva's outlook.

The phone rang; as was her habit, she let it go to voicemail.

"Hello…Minerva? This is Wilford B. Wolf. I'm just calling about…"

Her gut tightened. Was she ready for this? Minerva's changed outlook teetered unsteadily. She struggled to conjure the image of Virile Wilford, and the conscientious way she sat at Geeky Wilford's feet and was dutifully attentive to his impromptu lunar lecture at the end of that totally confused evening.

She frowned, sighed, and picked up the phone. "Hello, Wilford. It's Minerva." Well, of course it was herself. Did anyone else live here? Geeky Wilford's thickheaded cluelessness must be contagious.

:Hiya, Minerva!" he said brightly. "It's Wilford!"

Patience, girl…patience. Scrunching her eyes shut and tightening her lips, she groaned. Of course it's you, Wilford. You already said that. "What can I do for you, Wilford?" she asked, with forced sweetness.

"I was, uh, wondering, eh, where you would like to go for our, er…" And he gulped. "…Date."

It's been three weeks, and now you think to call me about that? She clenched her teeth. Steady, hon. Don't blow it this close to the goal. What would Shel say? Taking a deep breath, she composed herself. "Oh…surprise me," she said noncommittally.

She was aware of the inner conflict caused by talking with geeky Wilford and anticipating the night out with virile Wilford. Her disquiet was caused by the strange incongruity.

The voice of Geeky Wilford even set her teeth on edge. It reminded her of the famous ventriloquist's puppet…what was his name? Maritime Snide? Her snarky self snickered sarcastically at the cruel pun. And her reflective mannerly self chided her. But she still couldn't remember the name. Mortimer Snood? Mortimer's Nerd?

It didn't matter; Geeky Wilford still sounded dorky. It was a bucktooth sound, the kind caused by a massive overbite. He sounded like another dorky denizen of the area around Burbank Woods; the guy who hung with the Other Crowd; the friend of the Mouse who talked in a squeaky helium voice and the temperamental Duck whose speech no one could comprehend. What was his name? Gaffy? Foofy? Even his laugh was dorky. "Hyuk hyuk," he would always say. And "Well, gor-llee!" And other stuff that grated on her ears. It was a matter of debate what species the guy belonged to.

"Well, um, sure, eh, I'll, uh, do that!" came Wilford's reply. "That sounds peachy keen! See you in a few days! Can't wait!"

"Neither can I, Wilford," she said, in her breathiest sultriest voice. "Goodbye for now." And, gasping for breath, she quickly hung up, without waiting to see how he would answer.

The sound of his voice evoked the appearance of Geeky Wilford in her imagination, and all that she found distasteful about him: the droopy ears, the scrawny arms and neck, the prominent Adam's-apple, the slumped shoulders and back, the thick-framed bottle-cap eyeglasses, and the baggy high-waisted pants. In her mind's eye, Geeky Wilford started to morph into the friend of the Helium Mouse and the Volatile Duck…Gaffy…Foofy…Whoever. Doggone it…! What's his name? Why can't I think who that goofy guy is?

The sense of zen and composure Minerva had achieved through housework had evaporated. She ran through a mental list of coping mechanisms. There was going on a shopping binge…she nixed it…trying to turn over a new leaf…for…she smirked at the irony…Wilford. There was getting drunk…she nixed that…that was only for nights out with Lola and Sawyer. And there was a heart-to-heart with Shel…

With the anxiety of a passenger on a sinking ship heading for the lifeboats, Minerva got out of her household-chores clothes and into her pastel yellow off-the-shoulder sundress. It reminded her of one of those twelve-step programs for licking addictive behavior; step number something-or-other entailed going to the accountability partner when one felt one's resolve weakening.

Clothes changed, she checked her reflection in the mirror by the door, primping her hair and fussing with the neckline of her dress. Squaring her shoulders, she took a deep breath. She wanted to saunter down to Shellie's pond without looking like someone in desperate need of a confidante. The wise old turtle would no doubt see right through her pretense. But Minerva wasn't trying to fool Shellie; it was to maintain the customary facade of a nonchalance with the other forest denizens. It was a survival tactic of both cognizant 'Toon Animals and their less self-aware cousins on nature's pecking order. A lifetime of dog-eat-dog competition…and dog-eat-mink, fox-eat-bird, and every other species-competition…had taught her the importance of the facade.

to be continued…

A / N

Mortimer Snerd is one of the characters of the beloved ventriloquist, the immortal Edgar Bergen. Goofy is the property of Disney.

Was it coincidence that the two had similar voices? I hope there was no rivalry between these two excellent men. Mr. Bergen and his char's starred in one of Walt's movies, after all: Fun And Fancy Free.

And of course there are also references to Mickey Mouse and Donald Duck.

Eternal rest and peace be upon both Mr. Bergen and Uncle Walt. As with other departed genii of children's entertainment, such as Jim Henson, I don't think we'll see their like again.

Until next time…hyuk hyuk.