The Doctor had “BEGINNER” written across his forehead. He ran to the bathroom mirror to see if it was so; and it was so. Like a flashing strobe light, it hurt the Doctor’s eyes, and you know he didn’t like it. He didn’t like it at all.  In fact, it was a terrible embarrassment and troubled him very much.

He tried wrinkling his forehead, tilting his head at different angles and changing facial expressions. Nothing could diminish the stigma. It was like a skin lesion that is diagnostic of a sinister disease, and it was there for any and all to see.

One day, Zeus got tired of the Doctor’s timidity.

“DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT!” Thundered Omnipresent Omnipotent Omniscience. (Triple O to Her friends……. The British like to call Her Double O Zero). A lightning bolt slammed into the ground not 20 yards from the Doctor’s giant nest on the North River.

It frightened the Doctor very much. He didn’t know what to do. But then miraculously as if his guardian angel were there, a soothing, reassuring voice whispered into his left ear. It was from Lieutenant General Ring.  “It’s in Watson’s book, Play of the Hand, the voice whispered.

“Oh, thank goodness,” thought the Doctor. “A place to start.”

“Come on to bed now,” call the female H. Sapien that lives with him in his giant nest on the North River.  “We both had big days ahead of us tomorrow.”

The Doctor got up, but the draw of Watson’s book was too powerful.  It pulled him back into his office and sat him down at his desk.

“Squawk,” I screamed at him with all my telepathic strength. “What’s more important, your work or this card game you play?”

I waited for a long time, but there was no answer.

Very concerned,

Harriett