Thursday, December 13, 2007

~Pretzels by kj~

"Kelly!" her mother cried.

"What are you doing!?"

Kelly looked up. "Pretzels, mommy," she said, as if the answer were obvious.

"I'm doing pretzels."

6 comments:

Dragon said...

Grown-ups are so silly!

First they think just because you're short you can't see things on top of the fridge, or you can't climb on a chair, or you can't reach. They could make it easier, but they don't, so you shouldn't feel bad if, say, you see a jar of pretzels sitting on the cabinet, and you get a stool from the bar and push it into the kitchen and climb up on it and can't really reach because the smooth glass keeps slipping through your fingers. If you have to jump to get it and it slides off the shelf and smashes on the linoleum, that's not your fault. It's their fault for trying to hide the pretzels.

Actually, I think I'd rather have a cookie.

Clarke O'Gara said...

“There’s definitely no monsters under your bed darling I promise you. Pick up the pretzels.”

I’d been trying to lure out the monster all week so I could take a picture of it. The monster eats meat, my best friend told me it ate her dad.

“No it didn’t, they just got divorced.” insists my mum. Male meat is what it eats so pretzels are hardly enough to lure it out and there’s no way I can hide a pork chop on the bedroom floor overnight.

Last night I couldn’t sleep and I crept downstairs for a hug from mum, my dad shouted at me, “BACK TO BED TONI! There’s no monster.” On my bedroom floor I left a closed bag of pretzels and in my anger at my Dad I left a map showing where he sleeps in the house.

Mum’s back from the police station now, I’m picking up pretzels from the floor, most of them are wet, it’d obviously tried them and spat them out, then figured out the map.

Mum is telling my best friend about how she got divorced. But my friend knows about the monster.

Clarke O'Gara said...

That's called Divorce. Forgot the title.

Comrade Kevin said...

As I think back on it now, the half-eaten bag of pretzels had not been properly childproofed from the very beginning. I have only myself to blame. Out of a sense of rapidly festooning slothfulness, I had allowed its contents to drift closer and closer towards the precarious edge of the countertop without pushing it away, or at least bothering to securing it with a clip. I kept telling myself The bag needs to be moved, but you'll do it later, won't you?

Thus it was prime target for a toddler on a search and destroy mission. When my back was turned, James managed without much trouble to grab the bag, then triumphantly hurl it towards the ground in some sort of zealous celebration of accomplishment. Pretzels, liberated from the bag were flung in every direction imaginable.

James then proceeded to posit several of them into some kind of order only he seemed capable of totally understanding, in the process looking for all the world like a chess player contemplating his next move.

Cynthia said...

I don't get it. My mom and dad tell me to see everything as art. If my markers are dry they tell me, "Look around, use something else. Use your imagination!"

So I couldn't find my box with all my crayons, markers and pencils. And, I had a really good idea to make an art pattern.

Dad was on the phone and told me not to bother him. Mom was at the store. Then I saw a bag of pretzels and thought how perfect pretzels would be to make my pattern.

The floor was just right to make my pattern. It was so big and pretty!

How was I to know mom would walk in holding bags, not see the art on the floor, and step on it?

Now I have to clean it up (they're making me use a broom). And, they took away my box of crayons, markers and pencils.

She ruined my art!

KJ said...

"Kelly!" her mother cried. "What are you doing!?"

Kelly looked up. "Pretzels, mommy," she said, as if the answer were obvious. "I'm doing pretzels."