Disclaimer: I wasn't invited and I don't own PotF. I just love the ingredients!
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"Pim has Keely for Lunch"
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• Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! •
"Stupid alarm! PHIL! Turn that thing off! PHIL!! Wait, one freakin' -- who's makin' that racket on my Saturday morning?" sniff sniff Oh, no! Not again. I was going to sleep in today 'til one.
"Maw! It's not sufficient that you try to poison us on a thrice-daily basis? Now, you're adding burning down our only home to your repertoire of quaint hobbies? Maw? Off it now! Off it!"
• Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! •
"Phil! Dad! Get in the kitchen and Help Mom!"
• Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! •
For cryin' out loud ... If I want something done right, et cetera, et cetera. "Where are my fuzzy slippers? Curtis, if you've been using them to bait traps again I'll ... ARRGH! Somebody turn off that racket or ELSE!"
Cold floor, cold floor, cold floor. "Ow!" Stupid backward-century stairs. "Maw! Couldn't you hear me hollerin'? If I have to tell you one more morning that you can't cook ... Ma--?" Oh no. It's 'The Girl.'
"Oh, hi Pim."
It's absolutely too early for this. Just what I don't need: HER in my house on her tippy-toes acting nonchalant while using Mom's apron to fan the smoke alarm. I'll enjoy this on the Wizrd later, but priorities -- I GOTTA LIVE HERE. Clang! There, the lid's on the pan of --whatever. Now, where's Mom's Wizrd? Mom!
• Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! Oo-wEE! •
"By Thor's Mighty Hammer and Odin's beard!" PoP! pOp! PoP! Cheesy mountings screws on that smoke detector. Duh, Mantis Hardware. "Now, where? Dishwasher!" Pots 'n' Pans Cycle -- worked for Dad.
"Thank you, Pim!"
"Yeah-yeah." She better not -- ugh -- hug me! Put those arms down, Matchstick, or I'll snap 'em off. I'll give her the evil eye. Good. She must be finally using both brain cells this morning. "Is there a good reason that you decided to burn down my home today, instead of your own? Do you want me to polish my pyromania in your kitchen tomorrow morning? Is 5 AM too early?"
Oh, no. There goes her hand to her mouth. Next will come the sniffling.
"Snif--sniff-snif-ff"
Right on cue. Then comes the tears and the bawling. No way! It's too early to be coddling a bawling backtimer. There's twelve ways I could solve this: three need a large sack, two require ... ah, what's the use? Only one won't get me grounded for life, so ... "There, there, ..." What is her name, again? "... Sunshine. No real harm done. Where are my folks, anyway?"
She can't talk, yet, so she's, she's playing "Cha-rades?" I hate that game. No, she's pointing. Pointing to the fridge. My family is in the refrigerator? Ah, a yellow sticky note in Phil's handwriting: "Pim-- Folks went skyaking to the Mid-Pacific to watch a total solar eclipse this AM and I'm busy breaking Max out of doggie jail – Don't Even Ask. Be back soon -- Curtis is in charge until then! " GRRR! GRR -- Girl. Remember The Girl. No sudden moves; no loud noises. Grin. No, don't show any teeth! Just a sweet, sugary smile. I'm going to be sick. I'm talkin' I.C.U. ill. Need a release. Take Phil's note and pretend it's his head. Brilliant! Crumple. Squeeze. Crumple, crumple, squeeze, crumple and squeeze. A flyspeck. Ahhh! That felt good. Smile. She's staring at me. Doesn't she ever blink? Is she even breathing? "So, what were you trying to burn?
"Uh, uh, ba -- baloney."
"You succeeded. Now, why?"
"Phil."
"Not the classic 'way to your man's heart is through his stomach,' was it?"
"His favorite."
What am I gonna do with you? Let's take inventory. Well, Phil could have done worse. Candida, for one. Shiver. Okay, forget inventory for now. "First, let's see what you totally screwed-up -- I mean, where a teeny little mistake happened. Let's examine the scene of the crime, er -- whatever. Grab the lid, Girlie." Koff-Coff-Koff Wheeze, GaSP! "There's something you don't see every day for breakfast: a mushroom cloud." Cough! "Whoa! And look at what's left at ground zero. Yup. It's dead, Jim."
"Huh-huh-huh-huh."
She's definitely breathing again, but unless she's an engine trying to turn over, it's not a good sound. More emergency maintenance required or I'll be having Miss Sunshine's tears for my morning shower.
"So, let me show you how to make a fried baloney sandwich à la Diffy. Grab a fresh pan, Bright Eyes." Hmm, she takes orders well. This could be useful in the future. Make note to self. "Second thing to learn from me is to get rid of the evidence. Open window, toss out scorched saucepan and ..."
Ra-OowW!
"... gotta love that cat!"
"Third, the first thing you do --"
"How can it be first if it's third?"
Just stare at her. Don't say anything. No wrinkled brow. Give it a second; okay, another second, and ...
"Sorry."
Everybody wants to be my editor in life. "Step One: Forget frying the baloney alone -- think grilled cheese sandwich. Now, while the pan is ah heatin' up, it's time to scrounge up the ingredients. Whaddaya given me that look of disbelief for? No, I don't do poisons." How do these rumors get started? "Here's the newsflash, Ace, the fried baloney sandwich is the omelet of the lunchtime menu. You'll need the essentials: bread, baloney, cheese, and some butter to ... why are you just standin' there? This sandwich isn't going to make itself. Snap together those ingredients, Toothpick, or you'll be makin' your sweetie pie nothing, but hungrier." Ah, that's better! Note to self, it was useful. Thanks.
"Step Two:" Good, no comment this time. "See what else is lurking in the fridge. Every F.B.S. is a masterpiece onto its own self. Let's see here. Take this, and this, this, too. Ooh, we'll use a few of these!" Hey, nice initiative opening up the jars. Maybe there's a little potential in this one, after all.
"Step Numero Three: Start with the stacking. Buttered bread—butter-side down, baloney, cheese -- now, it gets interesting. Let us then add the lettuce." Wait for it, wait for it ... Nobody gets my puns. "Now a little maple syrup, BBQ sauce, mustard, three pickle slices, and, let's say a dash of cinnamon." She's not making faces or noises. She really wants to make Phil happy? I just know that I'm going to be stuck with her. Maybe some money could be made off of such a sure thing. Now, top it off with another slice of bread, and voilà, you're ready for Step 4. With me so far, Betty Crocker?"
"All the way, 100-percent with you, Chef Pim!"
She's found her voice. The quiet was so nice. Peaceful, even. Aw well. "Butter up the pan, Sugar, then the outside of the bread and let sandwich kiss pan." Splat, Sizzle, Sizzle, sizz Give it a minute or two to transform itself toasty brown, flip it, and wait for side two to reach culinary perfection. Look at her. She's more intense than one of Messerschmitt's midterms. I swear, she never blinks. Wonder if she'd wear a name tag when she comes over here?
"And there you are, Phil's favorite snack. I'd suggest serving it with a pitcher of iced tea -- lemon -- no sugar, and some chips. Feed him this and you'll have him eating out of your hand." Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. "What, no thanks?!"
"How does it taste?"
"Eat it."
"Well, I don't really feel --"
"Eat it."
"I really appreciate your teaching me, Pim, so --"
"Listen, Stretch. You woke me up on a Saturday, nearly asphyxiating me while trying to torch our house because you wanted to do something special for Him. I didn't make this sandwich for Him, I made it for YOU! Eat It. Eat. It. Now."
She's mulling it over, looking for escape routes -- such potential with this one. Arson, for one thing. If I could just bring her over to the Dark Side ... oh, look, she's picking it up. Next, she'll be eyeballing me for any chance of a reprieve. Yeah, Fat Chance! And there's the bite! Wait for it -- The eyes go wide!
"Pim, this is a-ma-zing! Scrumptious!"
"Was there ever any doubt?" She took another mouthful. "Yep, I make a pretty mean F.B.S. Yuh see, Sister, sometimes it's just so much more efficient to use people's desires instead of their fears to get them to do what you want, hence the saying, 'The way to a man's heart,' yada, yada." Now what? She's gone all stiffy and isn't breathing. Bread, baloney, cheese, mustard -- the pickles were fresh ... nope, nothing in the sandwich. "What?"
"Pim, you can cook."
Rat Snacks! "Uh."
"Why don't you show your Mom what you showed me? Pim, she'd love it."
Yeah, and have more time to get into my business. Nothin' doin'. "Gotta leave room for the bro's squeeze to get in good with the folks, and it looks like that's you." Is she buying it? She's blushing? She IS blushing. Who blushes? Since everybody got compact pizza dishes on their roofs, nobody blushes anymore. "Listen, parting words of wisdom to my sous-chef: finish the sandwich, air out the house, make a couple of sandwiches--one for Phil and one for Pop. They have the same snack aptitudes. The baloney thing is beneath Mom, but she'd share a smoothie with you while the guys eat. Then, get out of her way because beneath a total eclipse the temperature, wind, and air pressure go all wiggy, then the stars come out. That kinda stuff makes Mom go all gaga, so count on her and Dad wanting some alone time ASAP. Capisca?"
"Sure, Pim, and thank you."
Not the hug-thing! Put those arms down! Never thought I'd miss Berwick. "Give me your house key."
"Whu-what?"
Now I can smile. "My fee. I was up all night doing, well, you don't need to know what I was doing. No matter. The family will be back any minute; you've got lots to do, then there'll be noisy happiness and joy exuding from this floor to the next. I need some sleep, so Goldilocks, I'm taking your bed as payment."
"Here. And, Pim?"
That was too easy. I should have demanded more. She's smiling? What now? "What now?"
"I really, really appreciate everything that you did for me this morning. Everything."
What are my feet doing? Stop that! Both of you, traitors, stop that at once! I command you to -- Now with the arms? This is a conspiracy! I have rights. I'm in charge, obey your ruler. About face, forward, mar -- no. Not the hugging! No. no. no. please. please. please. I'm melting! "Not a problem, Keely. That's what sisters are for." I did not just say that! Who the cream cheese is 'Keely?' "Now, hurry and get to sandwiching. Phil's used to them à la Diffy. You're not a Diffy, yet, so give it the 'Teslow Touch.'" Where in the sweet mustard are these names coming from? What's that noise? Is the smoke alarm having a hernia? Thu-dump, Thu-dump, thudump-thudump Worse, my stupid heart started beating. Aw, crêpe suzette!
I'm bringing my own pillow. Hers is bound to be decorated with fluffy little bunnies. Mom is so going to bond with her; pink frosting, the both of them! Slumber, here I come. That bed better be just right.
Hey, maybe this'll all just be a nightmare.
Yeah, right. Now, who's dreamin'?
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Well, there's my first one-shot. Since it was #1, it's written in first-person perspective. Hope some chuckles escaped while you read along about what happens inside Pim's graymatter.
Best
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4/16/7 Thanks to Princessbm for her review that had me change the note on the fridge to get Phil out of the dog house.