Here at Incoming Bytes I'm always tempted to get on a bus and take a holiday when dealing with modern technology that doesn't cooperate. In this day and age, one would think life should be simpler?
Maybe I should write a story instead. Publish something. Oh, we just did. Morgidoo's Christmas Carol. I digress. Wouldn't we rather just have a party instead? Maybe we've been on the bus too often? A tale of woe and reflection? I think the reader should decide...
The Holiday Party
“But I don’t want to go on a holiday, I want a birthday party instead!” Jack fussed.
He set up a tantrum like he always does. Not that I care, but that’s what he does. Everybody has their own ideas about how to get stuff, and that’s how Jack gets stuff. Everybody else wanted to go on a holiday, get in a bus and go see stuff, or go mini-golfing or something, but that’s not what Jack wants. He gets his way. It was always like that. That was clearly a harbinger we should’a paid attention to a long time ago, but didn’t.
“You had enough birthday parties already! Y’aint a little kid anymore”
“I want a party, I ain’t goin’ on any holiday ‘till I get a party, that’s that!” he started to cry.
“Okay, Jack” she said, shaking her head and looking at the rest of us like we were stupid or something.
“Whaddya lookin’ at!” she hissed. “He’s just a boy!”
She called the kids. Every one of them. They showed up like it was a holiday, wearing bright crepe paper hats, the thin kind that’s supposed to make you look like a king or something, but ends up making you look like a dummy with a crepe paper hat on with points going every which way except up. You look like a dumb cluck. I hate mirrors, they tell the truth. Some kind of a dummy with a crepe paper decoration stuck on the bean . Orange ones, green ones, red ones, and even yellow. They’re the worst. They don’t match anything I ever wore. I’d rather go on a holiday.
Jack got one on too, his was orange. His eyes twinkled, he was so happy. The other kids got around him and helped him open his presents. Not much, only thirty-three kids and twenty-nine presents, some of them good, some of them cheesy toys, Jack likes cheesy toys. He likes good stuff like sweaters and story-books too, but he like cheesy stuff the best. Always did.
Fussy kid. Doesn’t like going on holidays, but likes parties and gummy birthday cake with red candle-wax all over it. I hate candle-wax on my cake, but Jack doesn’t mind at all.
The piano in the hall twinkles hollow. Mrs. Pedoodle is playing it. The candles light up the room and Jack’s face too. He smiles. It’s nice to see Jack smile. His eyes twinkle and he laughs. He points at the candles, mesmerized. Everybody claps and she has to grab his hand quick before he gets burned. She moves the cake back a bit. Jack cries.
We sing “ Happy Birthday to you,-- Happy Birthday to you, Happy Birthday dear Jackie,- Happy Birthday to you.”
Everyone claps. Jack claps too, and keeps clapping. He keeps clapping some more.
“That’s enough clapping, Jack, let’s eat cake! Which piece do you want, Jack?” she asks.
“Cake, I like cake!” Jack says, with mischief in his eye. He points at the corner of the cake.
“I want that one” he says.
No wonder he wants that one, it’s got all the icing roses and a toy truck on it .
That’s how he always gets the biggest piece first. By pointing at it. The corner piece with the thickest icing and the most candle-wax on it too. Lots of holes, a few finger-pokes. His eyes twinkle.
“This is better than any holiday”, he says. “I don’t like holidays unless there’s a party first”.
“Happy 95th, Jack!” someone says, and everyone in the hermitage claps. His eyes twinkle like blue ice. The blue icing is already smeared all over his whiskers.
I'd rather go on a holiday.
That's my story and I'm sticking to it.