ON THE JOB

This is another flash piece for a prompt from the Terrible Minds site. Are you ready for this? It’s supposed to be BABY PULP FLASH FICTION. You read it right. It’s supposed to be baby-centered pulp flash. Classic. I normally don’t churn them out quite this quickly, but this one really did write itself. Have fun reading it. I’m still laughing from writing it.

ON THE JOB

This big kid thing involves some heavy-duty gigs. Like the other night, for instance. A little back-story first though. I’m sacking out in my toddler bed in Elaine and Jack’s room while mine is being pimped. Elaine and Jack are the folks, but some doc on a late night talk show I caught said it helped kids mature to call parents by their given names. At 18 months, in a non-crib, and sporting a pull-up full-time, I’m the poster boy for mature, so ‘Elaine’ and ‘Jack’ it is. But I digress.

The folks threw a party last week and it was a real dud. Booze, chit chat and some cheese balls aren’t exactly my idea of a blow-out, but then they’re almost 30, so what can you do. Anyhow, around 8-ish, they crank up the Pooh nightlight (he’s my hero, by the way) and wish me a happy flight to Dreamland on the wings of a beautiful fairy. Yeah. Okay. I just smile and nod. No sense making waves…

They half close the bedroom door so they can hear me if I cry--as if--and go downstairs to their snooze fest. Coats are tossed on Elaine and Jack’s bed from time to time, but other than that, I’m good to go. With Pooh lighting the way, I sat down with my new book. I’m scoping out Little Bo--what a hottie--when I heard footsteps on the stairs. I figured somebody needed to tinkle and the downstairs potty was occupado. I pretended to be out cold, but of course, I peeked. It was Hermione something or other, and that blew my mind. Jack couldn’t stand the sight of her; said she was like something out of a horror flick, but Elaine felt sorry for her, being old and alone and all. I guess that’s how she got the invite. I couldn’t stand her either. She smelled like that vapor rub crap and squeezed my cheeks. Now, a pat on the head here and there, I can live with, but the cheek thing? Come on, people, what am I, a baby?

I figured the old bat would do her #1 and split, but no. She flushed the potty, but didn’t tinkle first. What? She went to the case on the dresser where Elaine kept the good stuff, pulled out a real sparkly bracelet, shoved it in her coat pocket, zipped it up and went back downstairs. I was speechless. The Vick’s Queen is nothing more than a low-down thief. Well, not on my watch. I got up, put the bracelet back, and substituted a surprise. Beautiful fairy? Take me away.

The next morning over breakfast, I got the scoop. Elaine and Jack were having a grand laugh about how when Hermione got home and reached in her pocket, she pulled out a small clown that laughed the most horrific laugh you’ve ever heard when you touched it. Turns out, she’s clown-phobic, dropped it, and tinkled all over her new $75 shoes. Apparently, she wasn’t wearing a proper pull-up. Mature? I don’t think so. She was royally p.o.’d., called Jack and told him that he and Elaine better never talk to her again.

Elaine and Jack both smiled their biggest smiles at me and Elaine squeezed both my cheeks really hard. Any time, guys, any time at all. Now, how’s about ordering that 8 x 10 poster of Little Bo that’s advertised on the back of my cereal box…