Author's Warning: Like everything else I write, this takes place in my series, set up by the events in my first story "More Than My Friend" where the big event is that Frankie adopts Mac as her "little brother". If you haven't read that story yet, I strongly suggest you do so now, or else you might get confused.
There are major calamities, national emergencies, there are global catastrophes…and then there's the disaster zone many simply refer to as the Foster's kitchen.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAUUUUUUUUUGGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHH!"
The instant his eardrums were almost shattered by the spine-chilling shriek, it was only a matter of moments before Mac arrived upon the scene of whatever horrific accident that had just occurred.
"What happened?" the child yelped as he skidded to a halt on the tile floor. "What's going on – WHOA!"
"MAC! HELP ME!" Frances "Frankie" Foster screamed the instant she spotted him while she stood forcibly bent over, writhing about in pain. As much as he instinctively wanted to help the poor girl, Mac unfortunately couldn't help but pause and stare slack-jawed at the incredible sight before him.
After all, it wasn't exactly every day that someone's hair got caught in an electric mixer.
"What are you doing? Don't just stand there!" Frankie hissed venomously at the dumbstruck eight-year-old as she tugged feebly at her snarled crimson locks. "For the love of everything that is sacred, get me out! Get me out! Get me out! Get me out! Get me out!"
"I'm sorry!" Mac yelped apologetically as he swiftly snapped back to his senses. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry! I'm sorry-"
"Sorry isn't going to keep me from going bald in a few minutes!" The young woman wailed as she struggled to pull herself free from the stand mixer's tenacious hold. "Mac, do something!"
Moving like lightning, the little boy hastily scaled the counter and scampered over to the hideous mix of redhead and kitchen appliance.
"Is it off? Did you turn it off?" he sputtered. "Maybe then I can just-"
"ARGH!" Frankie yelped in pain. "No! Please, turn it off! Turn it off! Turn it off! Turn it off!"
"What do you mean, no?" Mac cried as he carefully examined the mixer. "Frankie, this thing's not moving at all, how's it-"
The instant he spotted the beaters move a little, the little boy yelped and instinctively backed off a little in surprise.
"No, don't!" The caretaker whimpered piteously. "Pal, please! Don't leave me! Look, can you see? My hair's jamming it! My hair's jamming it! That's why it's not moving very – YEEEEEEK! Oh dear Lord, it's still tugging! OUCH! It's pulling out every strand by the roots! OW! OW!"
"Okay, I got it! I got it! Just hold on!" Mac cried as he desperately tried to keep a hold of himself in the midst of the gut-wrenching panic that had seized him. Frantically the eight-year-old began searching over every inch of the appliance.
"Where's the "off" button on this thing?" he wailed as he continued the desperate attempt to shut down the evil electric device. "Where's the-"
"AAAAA! It's still pulling! It's still pulling!" Frankie screamed as she felt the harsh tug. "YOW!"
"Hold on a sec!" the boy yelped. "Please, just gimme a few more-"
Unfortunately, the fact that it felt like the mixer was about to completely consume her crimson locks made it difficult for Frankie to be anything but mad with terror.
"YOWCH!" she bellowed as the tears began to well up furiously in her eyes. "Oh God, this is it! I knew it'd end this way! This thing's not gonna make me bald, its gonna rip off my scalp, I know it!"
"Well what do you want me to do? Should I get some scissors and-" Mac hastily suggested.
"So I'll look like I got attacked by a weed-whacker?" Frankie squealed incredulously as she protectively stroked what untangled hair she had left. "NEVER!"
"Well if you want to get out of this without loosing anything, then you need to calm down!" Mac snapped as his patience swiftly wore thin. "I can't concentrate if you-"
"You can't concentrate? You're not gonna die right here in the kitchen!"
"Frankie, you're not going to…wait, are you crying-"
"No Mac, I'm sobbing with delight right now!" she snarled as the tears welled up in her eyes. "What do you think, Einstein? I'm gonna die right here, this devil machine's taking me to hell with it, I know it! Any second now, it's gonna start tearing off skin-"
"Frankie, please get a hold of yourself!" The child begged as he frantically looked over the mixer for what felt like the tenth time in five seconds. "Jeez, who makes these things? Does this even have a stupid-
"AUGH! OW! OW! OW!" the girl screeched as the mixer suddenly gobbled up another inch of hair. "Oh Christ, it's all over! This is it! Our Father who art in heaven, hallowed by thy name, thy kingdom come thy will be done…"
"Wait!" He cried hoarsely as he finally spotted the electric cord out of the corner of his eye, which he instinctively nabbed and clumsily tugged free.
"GOT IT!" Mac whooped triumphantly as he held up the end of the cord for the ensnarled girl to view. "Look, look, it's finally--"
"WAUGH!" Frankie began screeching anew as she felt the harsh yanking continue. "Oh for the love of God, it's still trying to eat my hair! I swear, this thing is possessed! OW! OW!"
"WHAT?" Mac involuntarily yelled. "No way, I just unplugged the-"
"The batteries, Mac!" Frankie cried. "I think it may have some back-up batteries in there! Quick, take them out! Take them out! YOW! Oh, my head!"
"Are you kidding me?" the boy hollered. "It's not even clear where the power button on this thing is, now you-"
"HURRY!" The young woman screeched as her scarlet locks continued grew and more tangled in the appliance at an agonizingly slow pace.
Despite the intense urgency of her plight, Mac had to pause for a few moments to go over his woefully limited options. He could find and remove the batteries, but that would take time that he simply didn't have, seeing as how Frankie was wailing louder than ever as the mixer slowly wound what little hair that wasn't already trapped tightly in its-
"THAT'S IT!" the boy hollered as soon as realization struck.
True, he had absolutely no time to properly turn of the infernal contraption. But he did have however was plenty of strength borne out of utter desperation. The instant he conjured up his last-ditch idea, Mac immediately nabbed both slowly whirling beaters in each hand, and with a furiously burst of effort yanked them free from the mixer.
Frankie, who had been tugging doggedly the entire time lest the machine devoured her entire head, instantaneously flee backwards the second she was free, taking both beaters and child along with her as she tumbled backwards in a hasty descent to the floor.
THUD.
For a few moments, the pair lay badly disoriented in a sprawled mess upon the tiles as they struggled to recover from their harrowing experience. Mac however had barely managed to realize that it was all over when Frankie shot up into a clumsy sitting position and deftly swept him up into her arms. In an instant, Mac felt like the air was being squeezed from his lungs as the extraordinarily grateful redhead embraced her rescuer tightly.
"Oh God, I think I saw my life flash before my eyes back there…" Frankie managed to gasp. "And it looked like a commercial for a professional maid service!"
With that she promptly tightened her hold on the little boy and began whimpering and coddling him like a frightened toddler trying to find solace in a stuffed animal.
"It's okay," Mac managed to free hand to pat her on the shoulder. "It's all right, Frankie, it's all over. Honest, it's gonna be all right, it's gonna – oh, c'mon! Blecch!"
Ignoring his revolted protests, the deeply thankful caretaker suddenly unleashed a barrage of sloppy pecks upon his cheeks in her intense gratitude.
"Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!" she gasped repeatedly. "I swear, my head would've been mince meat if you -"
"Frankie?" Mac couldn't help but ask.
"Y-yeah?" the caretaker grunted dumbly as she flashed the despised mixer a quick spiteful glare.
"Just answer me this; how did you do that?" he demanded bluntly.
Groaning loudly, Frankie settled him onto her lap before she began to try and remove one of the badly snarled mixing beaters.
"Let's just say this is why I don't wear my hair down very much." She answered ruefully with a heavy sigh. "Jeez, of all the days to try something different…mmph…c'mon, gimme a hand with the other one here."
Mac obediently did as he was told; assisting her to gingerly untangle her crimson locks from the metal attachments.
No sooner had they managed to pull the last strand free and Frankie's hair tumbled back down to shoulder length, the distinct sound of hopping announced the arrival of an all-too-familiar face.
"Miss Frances?" Mr. Herriman called politely as he entered. "Miss Frances, have you started yet on din-"
The imaginary rabbit had barely begun to speak before Frankie hastily scrambled to her feet and began waving the pair of beaters furiously in his face.
"We are getting ANOTHER mixer." She snarled viciously, much to her employer's shock and confusion.
"…Excuse me?" he managed to whisper incredulously.
"What, am I speaking Spanish here?" she snapped. "I told you, I-"
"Miss Frances, what in the world are you talking about?" he cried. "Our mixer is brand-new, we've barely used-"
"Yes, and first thing tomorrow, I'm returning it!" Frankie hissed. "I'm telling you, there's no way I'm-"
"Oh come on now, Miss Frances!" he groaned, unsympathetic to her complaints. "What on earth can the problem be? We only purchased it a few days ago, there's absolutely nothing that's-"
"Yeah, but when Frankie turned it on, she got caught in the-" Mac piped up in the young woman's defense, which unfortunately did very little to sway Mr. Herriman, judging by the way he rolled his eyes and shook his head pityingly at the duo.
"You what? Oh good gracious, children!" he exclaimed. "Just because you got nicked by the beaters doesn't mean there's anything wrong with the-"
"I swear to God, that thing tried to-" The redhead protested, but before she could get any further Mr. Herriman roughly snatched the beaters from her hand and hopped over to the mixer.
"For goodness sake, how can you possibly have any problems with this contraption?" he grumbled as he shoved the metal beaters back in place. "It's so simply to work, even an infant could run it! I'll show you, there's absolutely nothing to worry about, this thing is as simple and harmless to operate as a-"
"Oh, good heavens!" Madame Foster yelped in complete surprise as she was nearly run over by two blurs. As they raced by the severely startled old woman, the two continued to shout at each other in panic.
"Go, go! c'mon pal, let's go!" Frankie snapped as she lugged along a small first-aid kit.
"I'm running as fast as I can, I swear!" Mac shouted back as he hefted along a large hammer in his little hands.
"Fast as you can isn't not enough, kiddo! I don't know how long he can hold out!" the redhead cried as they sprinted off down the hallway, creating a ludicrous spectacle that soundly puzzled Madame Foster to no end.
"What in the world? Frankie! Mac! Either of you, wait!" she called. "Where are you two going? What's going on? What is all of this?"
Before rounding a corner, Frankie paused and whimpered miserably as she glanced back at her grandmother.
"Quick words of advice; long, floppy ears are not always an advantage!"
The End