This is the story that got my highest rating ever on Zoetrope (still only 6.5/10):
In the Gaggle of Giggles Day Care it is Friday, a.k.a. Sandwichday for the noon meal. The buns are rising and just a quick jaunt to the fridge is needed to grab the necessary lucheon meats and cheese. Suddenly the realization hits that the first of those is missing.
Damn.
Dilemma.
If only this ridiculous disagreement with the couple next door about the fence was finished so an actual organized thought would be possible. And who is she to complain about colour? One more glimpse of Daisy Colburn's entirely patterned and mismatched clothing and a pair of jeans will have to be delivered to her. Not to mention that catalog specializing in cubic zirconian jewellery the mailman left here by mistake one morning. As if everyone didn't know that garbage she drips in isn't--but enough, back on task.
Okay, the old fail safe PB&J can work.
Frick, frick, frack, out of the latter.
A great substitute for jam is honey. No, all gone a month ago on a Wedne--Bakingday. Time to check the freezer. A vat of soup everyone hated and chocolate icing. The only fruit left in the house is oranges ruling out any chances of apple-cinnamon oyster buns or peanut butter and banana.
A mental note is made to actually allow one of the many grocery lists lying around the house make the journey to the grocery store.
Corn Syrup, syrup...pancakes? French Toast? No, the point of Sandwichday is to escape a pile of dishes.
And didn't Daisy have to cluck her tongue at the porcelain and plastic tower of Piza in here one morning when she dropped in UNANNOUNCED as always. She purposefully comes to the back door to file her report on the status of everyone's kitchen.
Okay, time to start cooking some french fries for a time-buying appetizer. Maybe stick some candies in the top of each bun and...and what?
Grrr.
Fill each bun with something. To the cupboard with its hodgepodge of ingredients. The saving conocotion is here. Vanilla, lifesaver candies, peanut butter, cornmeal, baker's chocolate, oatmeal, dried cranberries, cake sprinkles, cloves, five lollipops--grape, orange, orange, grape, oh, also a lemon that escaped the bag--pure spearmint extract, a small roll of hallowe'en rocket candy...
Inspiration dawns.
THANK YOU!
The fries are done. Hurry, hurry, get the buns in the oven. Mind reeling at the absolute brilliance of the plan.
It needs a name...thinking, thinking...Friday Funday.
Now to round a small bowl of ketchup with the french fries on a dinner plate, cover and set them in the middle of the large, white-laminent, rectangular table. Done. That won't be enough to hold them. Oranges are hacked into quarters and thrown on yet another plate but remain on the kitchen counter.
Now...
Needed: a pestal and mortar.
Substituted: a cafe au lait mug and a large spoon.
The first four ingredients are plucked from their different dark corners. Crushing them a few at a time works rather well. Some powder more than others, some shatter. Hmph.
A moment of uncertainty. What if it doesn't go over? Children can be fickle imps. Damn, there is no way this is going to fool them. Perhaps just scrap it and do Cheese Whiz. No, even if they love it, that stuff is total garbage, not that this is much better.
Point of no return.
Just go with it.
School children come in the door signalling the commencement of the meal hour. Eleven children pounce upon the appetizer.
"No double dipping that's gross!"
"Hey, I was looking at that one!"
"Sweetie, take your hand out of your pants and please go wash them BEFORE!" a lunge to arrest a reaching hand, "you get another french fry."
The timer for the buns sounds. No, they aren't brown yet.
A glance out the window shows Pansy puttering in her garden. Nice sandals. That reminds: Did she see that involuntary eye rolling the last time she was here begging invites to her Lingerie Party? Alright, enough, exorcizing Daisy from this day's thoughts.
Fast, little shrimps out there scarfing it down....come on...buns be done...almost there...time to unleash the orange quarters.
Buzzer again. Out they come.
...
"Why? Well, we are having the oranges first instead of last because today is Friday Funday, so we are doing everything in a mixed up order. AND!..."
(Really sell it, girl.)
"It is still Sandwich Day, BUT!..."
Good, good, a few eyes are wide, a couple actually halt their feeding frenzy and snap their heads up.
"You have probably NEVER! eaten this kind of sandwich before in your life! SO! There is no peeking into the kitchen or it will ruin part of the fun!"
The buns are halved, slathered and dropped on a serving plate. Make one for each to start.
A triumphant relay from a spy is heard: "I saw peanut butter!!!"
Another roll of the eyes, a call of no peeking and a challenge of, "But can you think of the other part? It is something you have probably never had on a sandwich before."
Eleven children makes an uneven number of sandwiches...keep the extra one in the kitchen or there will undoubtably be a argumentative situation to contend with.
Finally the topping is dashed on.
"Are you READY?!?"
"YES!"
"Okay...here they are...Peanut Butter and Candy Sandwiches!"
Saliva glands begin spewing and anticipatory adreneline manifests itself in excited wiggles.
Doubt is obliterated after one minute and forty-seven seconds when the first batch has vanished.
"I didn't get a piece of purple and that's my favourite colour."
"You made one extra!"
Damn, forgot about that little bugger sandwich. However, the next helping is ready to go and a fight is unable to get off the ground.
"Are we allowed to lick the bits off the plate?"
"Boys that eat pink candy turn into a girl, give it to me."
"I love Friday Funday! When is the next one?"
A sigh of relieved triumph. If only parents knew what a trial it is to rot their children's teeth.
