AUTHOR’S NOTE: If you’ve ever had a really bad day, well, it was probably nothing compared to Mr. Dewitt’s misfortunes. Read on, maybe you’ll feel better! I hope you aren’t too squeamish; I can’t stand the sound of squeaming!
Willy Dewitt Really Blew It!
Old Willy Dewitt doesn’t like getting help.
When he wants something done, he does it himself.
He calls the professionals, first, out of spite,
To find out the fee to have something done right.
Here’s just a sample, an example that’s true,
Of something Willy Dewitt once tried to do.
“Neath the Hickory tree in his Hickory yard,
Raking Hickory leaves, working awfully hard.
Willy was warm, even while in the shade,
And he guessed it’d be best to have some lemonade. (Homemade!)
Now, his door is too short, so each time he goes in,
Willy’s wooly hair gets tweaked, ‘less he lowers his chin!
As usual today, Willy didn’t duck down,
And his hair got a tweak, and his face got a frown.
With a growl and a howl, old Mr. Dewitt shouted,
“That’s enough of this stuff; I’ll do something about it!”
So, he phoned Huck’s Hickory Hardware store,
And asked the expense to expand his front door.
Then he hung up, while chuckling, ” Four hundred and eight!”
That’s how much I’ll save when I fix it, just wait!”
Then it dawned on old Willy, “My door’s not too small–
It just tweaks my hair ’cause my hair is too tall!”
I know now just how to make hair tweaking stop…
I’ll just trim my hair, a wee bit off the top.”
Now, the Hickory barber is Willy’s good friend,
But he charges nine bucks– more than Willy will spend.
So, with snippers and clippers, a mirror, and a chair,
Silly old Willy tried to cut his own hair!
And that’s how Willy’s distress first began…
He itched, then twitched, with clippers in hand.
His hand shook, and it took all the hair off his head,
Then nicked skin on his scalp, and wow! How that bled!
Now, just about anyone with sense would have said,
“Call Dr. Tottle!” But not Willy. Instead…
He went to his cabinet, got needle and thread,
And set about stitching the gash in his head.
The stitching was tricky, but didn’t take long,
And the bleeding was stopped, but something was wrong!
How Willy did this, one can’t quite understand,
But on top of his head, he had sewn his own hand!
Willy wasn’t worried, though, why should he be?
He would just use the scissors to snip his hand free.
Soon, Willy’s woes were worse than before,
He lopped off his left ear, and it plopped on the floor!
Believe it or not, Willy still had no fear…
He just gathered his wits, and his tools, and his ear.
“I know how to sew,” he thought, and he planned,
“I’ll reattach my ear, I’ll just use my right hand!”
It was a bit tricky, with one hand sewn to his head,
But he held his ear on, using his toes instead.
Willy Dewitt really did it, really blew it again!
Sewed his foot to his head, where his ear should have been!
“Really,” said Willy, “I am in quite a pinch!”
So he hopped toward the door, bit by bit, inch by inch.
Calling for help would have been too much trouble–
He’d drive to Dr. Tottle, by himself, on the double.
So, outside Willy went, and of course, the front door
Tweaked and twisted his hair as he went through once more.
Poor Willy squealed as he hopped in his Dodge,
Hit the gas, squealed the tires, and drove into the garage!
He crumpled his garage door, his hood, and his nose!
Steam rose from his head, out his ear, through his toes.
Willy turned red as his head overheated,
And he bellowed some things which cannot be repeated.
Willy clamored, stammered, stomped the gas pedal hard,
And one-handedly steered, well, veered through the yard.
Before he could even step onto the brake,
He ran over his mower, and blower, and rake.
What a racket! What a rumpus! It sounded like this…
Zoom! Bash! Whack! Boom! Crash! Crack! Crunch! Kersplat and then hiiss!
Just what, you may ask, made the hiss and kersplat?
When Willy wrecked the rake, well, his tire went flat!
Willy lost his temper, as his tire lost air.
But he said, “There is nothing that I cannot repair!”
So, he got out of the car, slammed the door with a thunk,
And hopped to the back for the spare in the trunk.
What Willy had forgotten is that driveways in Hickory
Are slanted, and sloped, and usually slickery.
So, with Willy behind it, his dented Dodge slid,
And rolled over old Willy, no, really, it did!
When Willy got squashed, he let out a scream,
Then the lights all went out, and he entered a dream.
There were green-gowned people; their faces were dim.
Stitching, and snipping, and tsk-tsk-ing at him.
Finally, Willy awoke in his own little bed,
And shook off the cobwebs from his bandaged head.
He snatched up a mirror to look at his face,
To see if everything was back in its place.
Surprise! Nose and eyes, hands, ears and toes,
Everything was exactly where everything goes!
And so, Willy wondered, was it all just a dream?
For everything was normal… or so it would seem.
But there on his nightstand was a bottle of pills.
Right beneath that lay a huge stack of bills.
“For common sense,” read the label on the bottle.
Beside it was a note that was signed “Dr. Tottle.”
It read, “Dear Willy Dewitt, don’t you do this again!
If you need something done, won’t you please call a friend!
A repairman, a mechanic, or anyone else,
But please, Mr. Dewitt, don’t do it yourself!”
Willy snorted, then sorted the bills on his lap.
“Let’s see what its cost me, my little mishap.”
He opened the bottle, took two of his pills.
And set about totaling the bushel of bills.
TWELVE THOUSAND DOLLARS, AND FIFTY-NINE CENTS!
For straightening noses and hammering out dents.
Bills for sutures, and surgeries, for scrapes, bumps, and aches,
For fenders, and garage doors, and mowers, and rakes.
“What a fumble! What a flub! What enormous expense!”
How silly had been Willy! But now it made sense!
He sprang out of bed with a smile, for he knew,
Finally, exactly, what he had to do.
Willy Dewitt is happy now; it’s been many weeks,
Since his wooly white hair has had any tweaks!
He can go in and out, with ‘nary a pluck,
For just above the door is a sign that says “DUCK.”
Way to go, Willy!
As a bonus, here are some sketches by our favorite illustrator, Matt Pfahlert. These are some preliminary sketchity-sketches of just what ole Mr. Dewitt might just look like…
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