Resignation

My name is Belinda Bichon. Yeah, I know, my last name is the same as a breed of dog. Lord help me when I’m older, I can only imagine the teasing I’ll get if I am anything less than sweet and kind. Yeah. But I’m a witch or at least one in training. So, it follows that I could, or might be, the sort who would turn the teasers into a toad or a Brussel sprout! (I do not care for Brussel sprouts!) Then, at least, I’d earn the name.

Problem is, I’d probably mess up the spell and make them rich or something because I am dysexlic. No. I mean dyslexic. See? I can just imagine my needing three dragon toes and four bat’s teeth and using the reverse. Some insidious witch decided to give spells names. Latinus names. They are hard enough to say when you say them right, let alone switch a few letters around, and the results are not always pretty. After all, it isn’t like one can flunk witch school. I am what I am. That is far scarier than my being a witch to begin with!

Then there’s the whole flying thing. There is simply no ladylike way to sit on a broomstick. I know, I know, they made it look easy in the ‘Harry Potter’ movies, but that isn’t magic, that’s fantasy. Me? I keep falling off. My broom goes zooming off and I’m in a heap in a pud muddle or something. Argh! I did it again, sorry: mud puddle.

I expect I shall be a solitary witch, no covens for me. Simpler that way and I won’t have to worry about being the one everyone is mad at because I mess up all the time. On Halloween, I shall call down the moon, dance in my circle and actually hand out candy rather than spiders, scorpions and snakes; those things give me the creeps!

Truth be told: I am a miserable failure at being a witch! I hate black and think many spells are just a way to be lazy. I got in the wrong line when they were handing out life journeys. I should have been a fairy. They don’t require broomsticks to fly, they love pink or mint green and everyone expects them to be a little ditzy. My hair’s even the right color. I mean, outside of television, who ever heard of a blond-haired, blue-eyed b – ah, witch?

Thus, I am rendering my tesignation, er, tendering my resignation from Woghorts effective immediately. My broom and I shall fly off into the sunrise. (Actually, I’ll probably be hanging from it, but at least it knows the way home.) I’m sure I’ll diss you all when I mepart.

__ Visual mail left by a departing w-i-t (witch-in-training) from Woghorts School. She has returned to her home and has become an advocate for other mis-witches. Reports are that she is quite successful at her endeavors.



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