She was the Mona Lisa to him. After all these years, he finally met the women of his dreams. After a long time of playing the Don Juan playboy, he finally met his perfect match. And the amazing thing, regardless of the age and species difference, their transcendence could not be denied.

It was on that one night down at the Wolf Lodge, that his buddies thought they’d pull one over on him. It was the annual Canis Lupus “auction night” where both male and female candidates would auction themselves to the highest bidder. It was that night they met. The best night. She was now his “G,” as he affectionally referred to her.

The guys, in their jovial act of teasing, placed a bid on Gramma using his bid number. What was deemed a joke and one of monstrous joy and laughter, was to his eyes, a vision. There she stood. The Dead Sea parted. Cue Heaven’s spotlight, and the Messiah choir. An older women in a nightgown, bathrobe, and cowboy boots. This was not your Gramma’s gramma. That night, they would “skip the light fandango.” Wolf thought, “this must be a dream.”

Nightly get togethers at G’s home continued. They consisted of candlelit dinner, wine, and a hot tub. Just the two. He looked into her wrinkled eyes and aged face, and they laughed and carried on like teenagers. Every night was a new night.

Over the dinner table and through the cabin window, Wolf saw her approaching. A smallish person, skipping and swinging a basket back and forth, and heading for the house. Wolf said, “My love, there appears to be a small person approaching your walkway. She is dressed in an Amish style cape and hood, and the strangest color of red. You any idea?”

Gramma responded, “Oh no!  It’s my granddaughter, ‘Lil Red Riding Hood’!”

“That’s her name??” the Wolfe responded.

“No time to explain. I’ve got to hide! She cannot find you here in the house with me!” replied Gramma.

As Wolf watched G run to the back room, he was momentarily distracted by her black leather pants and tank top.

“What do I do?” Wolf yelled, but heard no response from G.

A plaid bathrobe and matching bonnet hung on a door nearby. In a moment’s notice, Wolf slid the two items on. Jumping into bed, he awaited the forthcoming knock from the strangely dressed child. There was a loud “knock, knock, knock” of the door from outside. The Wolf responded from bed, beneath the covers which he pulled up, over his snout.

“Yeah!! Come in!!” he yelled in response, forgetting to use a higher sounding voice.

Red entered the home, saw the Wolf in bed, and approached.

Red stood at the foot of the bed. “Hiya Gramma. Why you in bed so early? You sick? You ill? Where’s Grandpa?”

“Child, why so many questions?” the Wolf said in a higher, more falsetto voice. “What have you brought there, and remind me again of your name?”

“Oh Gramma,” Red chuckled. “You are always with the jokes.  I brought you your favorite. Cornmeal rice and vegemite.”

“Thank you dear,” said the Wolf, “but now, BEAT IT!…I mean you should run along as I don’t feel so well.”

“I’d agree gramma, you don’t look so good. Your eyes are bloodshot, and it looks like you could use a shave,” said Red.

“One more remark like that child, and you will find yourself out on the sidewalk, with that basket up your aaazzzz…on your head!” said the Wolf.

“Hey! You are not my Gramma, and what have you done with her?!” cried Red.

“You’ll never know,” Wolf said, and he jumped up and out of the bed, grabbed Red’s hood and mid-section, and carrying her out like a bouncer at a bar, threw her out of the house. The door was slammed shut with a “whoompf!” and then locked. Laughter ensued from within the house.

“Is she gone?” Gramma said as she sheepishly entered the room.

“Yup,” said the Wolf, as he eyed up his dessert, and her black leather pants. “Get over here, you vision. She’s gone.”

The frightened Red ran all the way home. In disbelief, she wondered if she had the right house? But she swore it would be a long time before she’d ever return to know for sure.

Over a cup of coffee and a cigarette, Wolf announced,  “that was the best vegemite I have ever had.”

“More creamer, darling?” said Gramma.

Digital art by Bill Cavanaugh