Day of Disasters
The toaster broke, the spaghetti was ruined, the typewriter was dropped into the swimming pool, the bottom of the pool gained several deep scratches, and to top it off, one of the panels of glass in the French doors was accidentally shattered.
Rhonda broke the toaster. She tried to toast a croissant while she was waiting for the spaghetti to boil, and it got stuck. She pulled upward vigorously on the lever which puts the toast up or down, and it came off in her hand. She had unplugged it and was digging at her croissant with a knife when she turned and saw Marguerite (7) chasing her twin, Karl in the back yard. Karl was carrying Marguerite’s newest craze- a used typewriter- above his head, and she, yelling in a most unladylike fashion and waving a wrench menacingly, wasn’t far behind. Rhonda ran outside to settle the dispute. She blocked Karl’s way. Holding the typewriter under one arm, she was listening to his explanations and excuses when Marguerite, standing behind Karl, grew impatient with his excuses and prepared to sock the back of his head with the wrench. Rhonda, who had been standing by the side of the pool, dropped the typewriter and tackled Marguerite. She took the wrench, and angry, she looked around and seeing no one, tossed the wrench. She intended it to land on the patio, but she overshot and it arched gracefully into one of the French door’s glass panels and shattered it. Looking at her stunned face, Karl saw his chance and made a grab for the typewriter. Marguerite screamed and jumped on his feet. Karl yelled and pushed her onto the grass. She sat and cried half heartedly and waited for sympathy. Rhonda grabbed the typewriter and held it over her head. She began to rebuke Karl, who tried to grab the typewriter. She took a step backwards and fell in the pool. Marguerite screamed again and threw in a pool cleaning net, the metal pole of which narrowly missed hitting Rhonda’s head as she came up. Karl, in a fit of usefulness, threw her the life preserver, the rope, and the first aid kit. Marguerite ran inside and came out in her swimsuit and goggles just as Rhonda was fishing out the last of the Band-Aids. Rhonda went inside and changed into dry clothes and told her mother, (who, oddly enough, laughed until there were tears in her eyes) what had happened. Then she suddenly remembered the spaghetti. She ran over and checked the pan, and beheld very over cooked and soggy noodles. She turned off the burner and sagged into a chair as the twins, now amicable again, walked by with the typewriter, which was dripping black ink on the tile. “We took turns and pushed it along on the bottom of the pool,” explained Karl brightly.
“It left odd scratches on the pool floor,” began Marguerite doubtfully.
“Aw, they’ll be fine,” said Karl confidently. “We’ll paint it next time Dad has to drain the pool.” They moved on to the bathroom, where they washed the typewriter with soap and water.
We had frozen pizza that night for dinner. It cheered Karl and Marguerite up no end (daddy hadn’t taken as lenient view of the scratches in the pool as they had). They loved it, and Karl voiced the wish that we would always have pizza for dinner. Rhonda turned pale at the thought of them sabotaging dinner next time they wanted pizza, but realized, as she reached for another slice of pizza, that they weren’t even trying. Apparently, she mused, chaos creating is an unconscious skill that comes naturally to seven year olds.
Still, she hoped they didn’t analyze the chain of events that led to pizza being served instead of spaghetti, because she didn’t put it past them to reproduce the chaos let loose today. She frowned, and then smiled as she bit into her pizza.. The plastic wrap duct taped to the hole the wrench made caused a slight rippling sound, and her smile faded a little as she wondered how much it would be to replace the glass plate. As the parental displeasure at scratches being inflicted on the pool surface had slightly sobered the twin’s gaiety at having pizza, so her happiness at the end of that eventful day was checked by the knowledge that the French door glass would likely cost her quite a few weeks’ allowance.
The toaster broke, the spaghetti was ruined, the typewriter was dropped into the swimming pool, the bottom of the pool gained several deep scratches, and to top it off, one of the panels of glass in the French doors was accidentally shattered.
Rhonda broke the toaster. She tried to toast a croissant while she was waiting for the spaghetti to boil, and it got stuck. She pulled upward vigorously on the lever which puts the toast up or down, and it came off in her hand. She had unplugged it and was digging at her croissant with a knife when she turned and saw Marguerite (7) chasing her twin, Karl in the back yard. Karl was carrying Marguerite’s newest craze- a used typewriter- above his head, and she, yelling in a most unladylike fashion and waving a wrench menacingly, wasn’t far behind. Rhonda ran outside to settle the dispute. She blocked Karl’s way. Holding the typewriter under one arm, she was listening to his explanations and excuses when Marguerite, standing behind Karl, grew impatient with his excuses and prepared to sock the back of his head with the wrench. Rhonda, who had been standing by the side of the pool, dropped the typewriter and tackled Marguerite. She took the wrench, and angry, she looked around and seeing no one, tossed the wrench. She intended it to land on the patio, but she overshot and it arched gracefully into one of the French door’s glass panels and shattered it. Looking at her stunned face, Karl saw his chance and made a grab for the typewriter. Marguerite screamed and jumped on his feet. Karl yelled and pushed her onto the grass. She sat and cried half heartedly and waited for sympathy. Rhonda grabbed the typewriter and held it over her head. She began to rebuke Karl, who tried to grab the typewriter. She took a step backwards and fell in the pool. Marguerite screamed again and threw in a pool cleaning net, the metal pole of which narrowly missed hitting Rhonda’s head as she came up. Karl, in a fit of usefulness, threw her the life preserver, the rope, and the first aid kit. Marguerite ran inside and came out in her swimsuit and goggles just as Rhonda was fishing out the last of the Band-Aids. Rhonda went inside and changed into dry clothes and told her mother, (who, oddly enough, laughed until there were tears in her eyes) what had happened. Then she suddenly remembered the spaghetti. She ran over and checked the pan, and beheld very over cooked and soggy noodles. She turned off the burner and sagged into a chair as the twins, now amicable again, walked by with the typewriter, which was dripping black ink on the tile. “We took turns and pushed it along on the bottom of the pool,” explained Karl brightly.
“It left odd scratches on the pool floor,” began Marguerite doubtfully.
“Aw, they’ll be fine,” said Karl confidently. “We’ll paint it next time Dad has to drain the pool.” They moved on to the bathroom, where they washed the typewriter with soap and water.
We had frozen pizza that night for dinner. It cheered Karl and Marguerite up no end (daddy hadn’t taken as lenient view of the scratches in the pool as they had). They loved it, and Karl voiced the wish that we would always have pizza for dinner. Rhonda turned pale at the thought of them sabotaging dinner next time they wanted pizza, but realized, as she reached for another slice of pizza, that they weren’t even trying. Apparently, she mused, chaos creating is an unconscious skill that comes naturally to seven year olds.
Still, she hoped they didn’t analyze the chain of events that led to pizza being served instead of spaghetti, because she didn’t put it past them to reproduce the chaos let loose today. She frowned, and then smiled as she bit into her pizza.. The plastic wrap duct taped to the hole the wrench made caused a slight rippling sound, and her smile faded a little as she wondered how much it would be to replace the glass plate. As the parental displeasure at scratches being inflicted on the pool surface had slightly sobered the twin’s gaiety at having pizza, so her happiness at the end of that eventful day was checked by the knowledge that the French door glass would likely cost her quite a few weeks’ allowance.
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