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Frederick Featherbottom was an inventor, but not a very successful one. His latest contraption, the “Self-Stirring Soup Spoon,” had only succeeded in flinging pea soup across his entire kitchen, coating his prize-winning pet goldfish, Gilly, in a fine green mist. Today, however, Frederick had a brilliant idea: a flying fan! Not a fan that cooled you down, but a fan that could actually fly.

He spent weeks tinkering in his shed, a symphony of clangs, whirs, and the occasional frustrated shout. He attached various feathers, discarded bicycle wheels, and even a miniature hot air balloon to a regular ceiling fan. His neighbor, Mrs. Higgins, often wondered if Frederick was building a very noisy, very confused bird.

Finally, the day arrived. Frederick, wearing his most optimistic safety goggles and a rather fetching bright yellow jumpsuit, wheeled his magnificent contraption out into his backyard. It was a chaotic mess of wires, propellers, and a truly impressive amount of duct tape. Gilly, safely ensconced in a protective fishbowl, watched from the window with what appeared to be a look of profound skepticism.

“Behold!” Frederick announced to the empty garden, “Frederick’s Fabulous Flying Fan!” He flipped a large, red switch. With a mighty roar and a tremendous wobble, the fan shuddered to life. It didn't soar elegantly into the sky as Frederick had envisioned. Instead, it lifted a mere foot off the ground, spun violently in a circle, and then, with a pathetic wheeze, began to slowly drift sideways.

It drifted past Mrs. Higgins’s prize-winning petunias, ruffling their delicate petals. It bounced off her garden gnome (which, thankfully, was made of sturdy stuff). It even managed to gently nudge her laundry line, sending a pair of very sensible knickers fluttering to the ground.

Frederick, eyes wide behind his goggles, chased after it, trying to catch the runaway fan before it caused too much chaos. Just as it was about to collide with the very important bird bath, the fan’s battery gave out. It dropped with a soft thud onto the grass.

Frederick sighed, a mix of disappointment and reluctant amusement. He picked up his creation, its propellers bent at odd angles. Gilly, from the window, seemed to blow a tiny bubble, as if to say, “Told you so.” But as Frederick carried the fan back to his shed, he noticed something. The stray knickers had landed perfectly on Mrs. Higgins’s clothesline. And the petunias, far from being damaged, looked remarkably fluffed and vibrant.

Perhaps, Frederick mused, his fabulous flying fan wasn’t a failure after all. It was simply a very enthusiastic, slightly clumsy garden helper. He smiled. He’d just need to work on the steering.