Story #233
Chapter 6
At last, peace and quiet. I did not want Mrs. Egduf to see me sharpening me spatulas. Poor dear would fret I'd cut meself, and well, I came close the first time of being not just one digit short, but three. This time, instead of a soapstone and leather belt strap, I'd go to her grinder, a thing she coveted, and I was sure she used it on her tongue to keep it sharp.
The day had turned warm, and I was working up a sweat, grinding spatulas on Mrs. E's grinder in the cellar. Because we had the furnace turned up to keep the oven going, it was even hotter than usual. I had got the last gleaming beauty sharp when a shadow cast itself across me. I looked up, and a figure I couldn't make out stood at the top of the cellar stairs. It looked like a deranged hobbit, but I wasn't sure. The hair was askew in all directions, and the patches and tatters of a jacket (that had seen better days) started to appear to me light adjusting eyesight. The figure looked to be wearing huge balloon-like shorts; the legs had stockings rolled in doughnuts at the ankles, and the clunky-looking shoes glowed pink in the dark light. Yes, it could only be one person, Mrs. Egduf!
One problem with this vision was the big frying pan she held in one hand. It swung in the darkness as she clunked down the stairs. Oh no, she was going to beam me one for sure since I hit her on the head with a pot. Ordinarily, I wouldn't care, but tonight I had a date with me old stepdaddy and nothing was going to keep me from it, even me beloved Mrs. E.
I stood there, spatula gleaming in the glow of the furnace, me eyes glowing along with it. Mrs. Egduf had reached the bottom of the stairs, and she said, "Squeamish Sweety, something happened to me brain. I think it exploded because the last thing I remember was standing next to you saying something, and I don't remember the next. Here, I brought you some fudge."
She held out the pan of newly made fudge, me favourite. I put the spatula down, not having the heart to tell the poor dear I had been what exploded on her head, not her brain.
"My dear Mrs. Egduf," I said, taking the fudge pan from her. "You shouldn't have it."
"Well, wot else was I to do? I found myself sitting on the floor and all, and I . . . "
"Ooh poor, poor Mrs. E," I said, taking her by the hand and sitting her down. "Let's test me spatula out on your fudge."
A pang of guilt seized me. I felt bad I had beamed her, but that grinder—she was possessive of it, and no way would she have let me near it.
The spatula cut through the fudge like warm butter. I handed her a piece and took one for meself. We both popped the pieces in at the same time and closed our eyes as the enjoyment took us both over. Both of us, yumming and oohing and rolling our eyes. We must have looked like two sugar junkies to the rats that lurked nearby.
Okay, I now have such a sugar craving I have to stop, or I will go off and get me some FUDGE.
Copyright © 2008 All rights reserved
Chapter 6
At last, peace and quiet. I did not want Mrs. Egduf to see me sharpening me spatulas. Poor dear would fret I'd cut meself, and well, I came close the first time of being not just one digit short, but three. This time, instead of a soapstone and leather belt strap, I'd go to her grinder, a thing she coveted, and I was sure she used it on her tongue to keep it sharp.
The day had turned warm, and I was working up a sweat, grinding spatulas on Mrs. E's grinder in the cellar. Because we had the furnace turned up to keep the oven going, it was even hotter than usual. I had got the last gleaming beauty sharp when a shadow cast itself across me. I looked up, and a figure I couldn't make out stood at the top of the cellar stairs. It looked like a deranged hobbit, but I wasn't sure. The hair was askew in all directions, and the patches and tatters of a jacket (that had seen better days) started to appear to me light adjusting eyesight. The figure looked to be wearing huge balloon-like shorts; the legs had stockings rolled in doughnuts at the ankles, and the clunky-looking shoes glowed pink in the dark light. Yes, it could only be one person, Mrs. Egduf!
One problem with this vision was the big frying pan she held in one hand. It swung in the darkness as she clunked down the stairs. Oh no, she was going to beam me one for sure since I hit her on the head with a pot. Ordinarily, I wouldn't care, but tonight I had a date with me old stepdaddy and nothing was going to keep me from it, even me beloved Mrs. E.
I stood there, spatula gleaming in the glow of the furnace, me eyes glowing along with it. Mrs. Egduf had reached the bottom of the stairs, and she said, "Squeamish Sweety, something happened to me brain. I think it exploded because the last thing I remember was standing next to you saying something, and I don't remember the next. Here, I brought you some fudge."
She held out the pan of newly made fudge, me favourite. I put the spatula down, not having the heart to tell the poor dear I had been what exploded on her head, not her brain.
"My dear Mrs. Egduf," I said, taking the fudge pan from her. "You shouldn't have it."
"Well, wot else was I to do? I found myself sitting on the floor and all, and I . . . "
"Ooh poor, poor Mrs. E," I said, taking her by the hand and sitting her down. "Let's test me spatula out on your fudge."
A pang of guilt seized me. I felt bad I had beamed her, but that grinder—she was possessive of it, and no way would she have let me near it.
The spatula cut through the fudge like warm butter. I handed her a piece and took one for meself. We both popped the pieces in at the same time and closed our eyes as the enjoyment took us both over. Both of us, yumming and oohing and rolling our eyes. We must have looked like two sugar junkies to the rats that lurked nearby.
Okay, I now have such a sugar craving I have to stop, or I will go off and get me some FUDGE.
Copyright © 2008 All rights reserved
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