Wouldja tell me where the goods are? Elementary drama.

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So, it goes like this . . .

I come home from school, and I am so hungry, right?

Like that PB&J sandwich and that micro pack of Cheetos were supposed to hold me through long division in my 2nd grade life?

How many Cheetos come in those “lunch-size” packages anyway?

I mean, please.

Not many, am I right Cheeto’s doodle heads?

Yeah, don’t get me started.

Of course, I got the recycled obligatory apple. I don’t eat it, but it keeps showing up in my lunch bag.

“Hey mom?” I’m thinking, “If I’m not eating that freaking apple for four days in a row… what do you think? I am saving it up for Friday?”

Huh?

No. I am NOT saving it.

It means I don’t like freaking apples, okay?

I think this is the same apple that first appeared in my lunch at the end of 1st grade.

Yikes.

That is one squishy apple.

You trying to poison me?

And, what’s with the quarter that’s always taped to the inside of my lunch bag?

I know, I know.

For milk.

For freaking milk, man.

You trying to make me look bad?

Milk?

I’ve got an image, mama.

I need some chocolate, or a little strawberry sumpin-sumpin to mix in so that I can shake it up in all my second grade coolness. You dig?

I can’t be cool out on the schoolyard after I’ve had to stand for a carton of plain milk.

Do I look like “plain” to you?

Well?

Throw me some love, mama.

A juice box now and then would be nice, so the girl doesn’t have to spend the shivers out there with the cafeteria demon to get a little “moo juice,” Baaaaaa-by.

And, what? No cookies?

I look inside and there are no Oreos or freaking Chips-A-Hoy in sight.

Dang.

Is there a cookie shortage somewhere that I don’t know about?

I double looked in that bag, and all I saw was brown…tsk, tsk, tsk… a brown paper bag… and something left of one nasty, squishy apple.

Oh, and by the way, I threw that apple in the garbage can, mom. It should have been done long ago. Like, when I was learning addition.

That apple blows, man.

So, like I said, I walk into the kitchen from a long day of beating little Susie homemaker at hopscotch, and I’m hungry, right?

It’s hard working on that jungle gym with the diet you have me on.

And, I’m looking…

I’m looking high and low for some double stuffed sandwich cookies, or a least a fig-frigging-newton.

Yeah, I would even settle for that right about now.

What’s a girl got to do around here?

And…

Where are they?

Huh?

I’ll tell you…

Up on top of the effing freezer.

And… Who did that? Extend-O-Man?

I don’t know why you moms put the cookies in the highest possible places.

Am I wrong here?

The cookies, the candy, and desserts of any kind… in the highest possible place?

It’s a bummer.

It’s a double bummer.

It’s quadruple bummer bipolar bypass, man. I might have to call on one of my personalities to remedy the situation, man.

And trust me… you don’t want to meet Bubba.

And, I might add…

This hiding thing…

Well, it’s a breach of common courtesy.

That’s right Mrs. Please, No, Thank You, and I’m sorry I didn’t take the dog out so that he would poop in the hallway again.

Yeah. A little cookie courtesy would be appreciated around here.

I swear, have a heart.

I need a little sugar jolt after this morning’s calisthenics with Mr. Rochcocker.

AND, by the way, his PE clothes are cut just a little too short.

I didn’t really need to know that things could be hanging out on a man.

I think I went blind for about 2 minutes of jumping jacks.

I am trying to recover from Mr. Rochcocker’s inadvertent anatomy class.

I NEED SOME FREAKING SUGAR.

Relax…

Hum…

Hum…

Uh, sugar needs to be on the menu, mom.

So, like I said… you moms always put the sugar goods on the fridge or in a cabinet shoved so high that you need a stinking elastic arms to get to, right?

I swear to God, do cookies come with warning labels?

“Caution — Keep out of reach of small children. The resulting sugar-letdown maybe hazardous to your health.”

Holy crap.

Man, you got a show some love for the short person.

I’m growing. I’m growing… but not if I don’t get any kind of food in me.

I can’t possibly reach those cookies without bothering you now, can I?

Huh?

Well, the answer that you’re looking for is “NO.”

And, you’ve always been telling me to stop bugging you, right?

And looky-here… Now I HAVE to bug you.

You’re setting me up to fail, man.

I’m doomed.

Doomed, I tell you.

And, all for the conservation of a few lousy cookies, that are a requirement to my growth, I might add.

So… now I have to bug you, don’t I?

It’s not what I WANT to do.

It’s not what I PLANNED to do.

But, it’s NOW what I am going to HAVE TO do.

I don’t go looking for trouble, you know. Yeah, bugging you is NOT the highlight of my day.

And now I’ve got to go begging just to get a little sugar rush… a little elementary high… and you’re blowing it for me.

Blowing it.

Sorry, but this is bigger than both of us. A girl has got to do, what a girl has got to do.

Now… where IS that freaking ladder….

__________________________________

xoxo

Be well,

Belle

Writer's Digest Award Winner - S. Belle Karper A 78th Annual Writer’s Digest Award WinnerBookmark and Share

S. Belle Karper, Author, Speaker www.BelleKarper.com
THE WIDOW WEARS BLACK – An Edgy Memoir from an Outspoken Survivor
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and Belle Karper Face Book & the popular Twitter-Belle – all on Website
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About SheriBelle

Award-Winning Author & Screenwriter

One response to “Wouldja tell me where the goods are? Elementary drama.”

  1. Penny Ash says :

    That is hillarious. I’m rolling here. Thanks, I really needed that laugh about now.

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