Imagine the Wicked Witch of the East was Irish.
The following conversation with Dorothy would be how she handle a house falling on her.
“Oh my God!” cried Dorothy. “Are you alright?”
“Ah, I’m grand,” said the Witch.
Dorothy: “But there’s an entire HOUSE on top of you!”
Wicked Witch: ”Ah sure, look. These things happen.”
Dorothy: ”Should we call someone?”
Wicked Witch: “No, no. There’s no hassle. I’ll be fine.”
Dorothy: “Should I fetch the Wizard.”
Wicked Witch: “Don’t be annoying that poor man. He’s enough on his plate.”
(Dorothy knelt beside her.)
Dorothy: “Are you absolutely sure you’re okay?”
Wicked Witch: “Positive. Just give us a minute.”
(There was a long silence.)
Dorothy: “Would you like us to move the house?”
Wicked Witch: “Ah no, you’re grand. Don’t be putting yourselves out.”
(Another silence.)
Dorothy: “Are you in pain?”
Wicked Witch: “Not at all. Well, a small bit. But sure, who isn’t?”
(By now, the Munchkins were gathering around, discussing rescue plans.)
Wicked Witch: “For the love of God,” said the Witch, “will ye stop making such a fuss? I’m grand!”
And with that, she gave her ruby slippers a little wiggle.
Wicked Witch: “Anyway, how’s your mother keeping?”
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