4.30.2008

A Story for You

I was digging through my old files and I found Wally. For my senior English class, we had to write a story (I'm guessing, I don't remember) that was a certain length. I wrote about Wally's misfortunes. It's kind of long, 7 or 8 pages, so I'll just give you the first encounter. I really do like writing, but it takes a while for me to get in to it. Then, when I do, I'm such a perfectionist trying to get it right the first time I write it. I'll have to find the poems I wrote for that class. One of them is really funny, something about someone drooling in class. I'll search for it, see if I can find it and post it tomorrow night.

I’m sorry to have to tell this tale, but it must be told. 'Tis about a certain person, me, actually, that has a lot of trouble with one certain vegetable. That infamous veggie is a cucumber. No matter what I try, it never turns out right. Something bad always occurs. To keep this story short, I will only mention the “major” ones, and disregard the “minor” ones.
It all started when I was just starting to eat “real” food, and not baby cereal. That first food was cucumbers. Mom so gladly pureed them for me so I didn’t have to gum them to death. Unfortunately for me and for her, the sippy cup, into which she poured them, did not seal completely. Therefore, when I tilted it to drink from, the lid flew off and all of the cucumber mush plopped right into my lap. I cried out to Mom; however, thinking I just didn’t like it, said “It’s ok, Wally. Cucumbers are good for you.” As I sat there with the mush in my lap, I felt it ooze its way down my diaper. If you’ve ever spilt a milkshake in your lap, then you know the feeling I was feeling then. Man, was it cold!
“Mom!” I tried calling out to her, but it only came out as a little ‘Aaamaaa.” As weak as it was, it got her attention. She turned away from the counter and towards me. “What did you say? Can you say it again? Come on, Wally, say it again. Say Mama.” Oh great. Now how do I get out of this one? I patted the mush in my lap; it made a suspicious squishy sound. When she saw it, I got the response I wanted. “Oh my gosh!! Wally, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even notice! Oh, you poor baby. Let me clean it up for you.” She scooped the puddle up with the lidless cup, cleaned me and the high chair, and changed my freezing diaper.
Just as I was reveling in my good luck of not having to eat that stuff, she set me back in the high chair and gave me the cup again, this time making sure the lid was on tight. Great, I’ll never get a way from having to eat it. Maybe if I start talking…

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