Welcome to Tuesday Tales, powered by a small group of authors, where word prompts inspire passages in the books we’re writing. I have finished my cozy mystery, Pumpkin Patch Murder, and am getting it ready for publication. I still haven’t decided what book to work on next. Several are planned and/or in progress, and I’m thinking of working on two at a time. Today I’m sharing a piece of mythological humor in which one of our favorite Greek gods is having a bit of a tantrum. The word of the day is grumpy. When you finish the passage, make sure to visit all the talented authors of Tuesday Tales.
Stomping back and forth along the seashore, dripping salt water and seaweed and his trident veering dangerously willy nilly with each stomp, Poseidon prepares to bellow out a message to Zeus.
Iris, messenger goddess of the rainbow, arrives to transcribe Poseidon’s plea, after which she is to deliver it to Zeus post haste. With pen and scroll in hand, she hops back smartly to avoid the hazardous trident. “Watch it, you clumsy oaf!” she snarls, her normally dulcet tones morphing into a raspy growl. “I haven’t had my morning coffee and yet am transported here for your inane folderol!”
A ferocious scowl contorts his face. He turns and hoists his trident, ready to zap his cheeky cousin. In a flash, though, his irritation with her evaporates at the sight of her auric colors, still soft and flowing, despite the state she is in. He lifts a brow. “Grumpy, much?” he inquires, giving her leeway to experience her bad mood, if that’s what she wants to do. He certainly intends to experience his. “Coffee!” he roars to a handy, lurking servant, and a nice, piping mug is delivered to Iris, along with a floating saucer to hold it. “Now may I continue?” he barks, resuming his tirade.
Oh, mighty Zeus, Ruler of the Skies, I, Poseidon, humbly beseech you to intervene in a matter of utmost urgency (curses in irritation and stops to wipe seaweed from his eyes). I beg you to rein in your fishwife, excuse me, your renowned wife, Hera, who, in her infinite spite, excuse me, wisdom, is creating an urgent situation likely to transform my tranquil coastline into a divine disaster. You will recall that you commanded young Cupid to shoot your erstwhile lover, the sea nymph Thetis, she of the lavender eyes and bountiful bosom, er, that is, resplendent form, with love’s arrow so that she would fall in love with the mortal, Peleus. In preparation, that creative cherub Cupid prepared a splendid love nest at my seashore, a tranquil bedchamber opening to the soothing sea. However, before he could let fly one of his amorous arrows, your fishwife, excuse me, esteemed wife, Hera, flicked her spiteful, I mean, graceful finger and transformed Cupid into a cumulo-nimbus, that is, a storm cloud. And then she vanished!
Now, instead of love, we have an impending tempest. With his cheeks puffed out like a prehistoric pufferfish, Cupid is ranting and raving up there like a two-year old (points his trident into the air). The impudent fool dares to infringe on my territory! He threatens to unleash a storm more epic and disastrous than the one you unleashed when your meddlesome, er, solicitous wife, Hera, sent gadflies to torment your lover, Io. Please, for the love of all that is holy, I implore you to rectify this situation. Put a muzzle on, er, chastise Hera for her interference and restore Cupid to his proper form. Either that or give him a juice box before he turns my serene waters into a churning maelstrom. Thetis is expected to arrive here at any moment, as is Peleus. A storm-tossed sea, and a bedchamber likely to float away in said storm, is not a suitable setting for a love story.
Yours in brotherly desperation,
Poseidon
Thanks for stopping by. I hope you enjoyed the piece inspired by the word grumpy. If you haven’t done so already, check out the other excerpts at Tuesday Tales.
Cheers & Happy Reading!
Flossie Benton Rogers, Conjuring the Magic with Spirited Stories
All rights reserved, copyright @ 2025 Flossie Benton Rogers
