Short Story: Hatless Henrietta

It was raining. Henrietta hated it when it rained. She hated it in that same way that all the hatless hate the rain.

“Eeeek,” she squeaked as the rain pattered onto her soft and downy head. “I’m going to melt!” Her little feet pitter-pattered on the ground, making the cutest, teeny-tiniest slapping sound. She ran here, she ran there, but nowhere could she escape the plops of liquid that quite insisted on landing upon her soft and downy head.

A giant drop landed right upon her beak, making her eyes squash shut and her feet tipper-tapper in the squishy-wishy mud beneath her.

“Ook,” she cried and whimpered. “How I hate the rain! What I need is a hat, but where oh where could I possibly find that?”

“I could hide beneath those trees,” she said and with a tweet she did run beneath the giant leafy one. But once she was there, she began to cry, for the leaves did not provide the protection for which she did try.

“Oooh,” she sniffled as she crouched beneath the tree, the rain still drip-dropping upon her soft and downy head.

“Worry not, my little fretful hatless chick,” the giant leafy tree did speak. “For I have the just the answer for one with such a soft and downy head.”

“Aaah, please Mr. Tree, I am Henrietta and with my head so soft and downy, I do so need a hat,” she peeped.

“See that floppy yellow flower there,” the tree boomed all true and fair. “It’s the perfect happy hat, for a perfect little hatless Henrietta.”

And so Henrietta, gathering her wits, ran again, this time to the little patch of many happy, trumpety, sunshine hats. She squished and wiggled and got underneath and when she stood all tall and proud, she found that the little hat was indeed a very perfect fit for her very soft and downy head. And now Henrietta, how she did laugh and smile, for she was a happy Henrietta, even as it rained.

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