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August 14, 2002
Cripple Creek, Colorado
Alias: Elaine Jameson
Wade and I had returned from our "date night" to find the kitchen in utter shambles. The loaf of bread was left open on the center island. A jar of peanut butter, complete with knife still sticking out of it, was nearby. There was also an open jar of marshmallow creme and the redolent scent of microwaved popcorn. While I went to go find the kids, Erin: 14 and Scot: 11, Wade investigated the gooey mess left to congeal in a pot on the stove.
The sounds of screaming led me to the den. The lights were off, but the TV had been left going on an old movie channel airing B-rate horror movies. By the flickering light of the TV, I could tell that the mess continued in here. Pop cans littered the floor and coffee table. No less than six plates, in varying degrees of dirty, added to the mess on the coffee table. It looked like the kids had pigged out on all the junk food in the house, and even created some of their own. The culprits in question were asleep at opposite ends of the sofa, in what appeared to be one massive sugar crash.
"Find them?" Wade asked quietly, waking up behind me.
"Yeah," I whispered back, pointing to the two. "What were they eating?"
"As far as I can tell, peanut butter s'mores and microwave popcorn balls," he chuckled.
I resisted the urge to laugh. They were inventive, if nothing else.
"What are we going to do with them?" I sighed.
"Leave 'em," Wade replied, simply. "Betcha when they're faced with the task of cleaning up after having slept on the couch, they won't be as eager to do this again."
I couldn't help a soft laugh. He was right about that. After we tucked blankets around the two, Wade and I headed upstairs to bed.
Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
313 Words
Cripple Creek, Colorado
Alias: Elaine Jameson
Wade and I had returned from our "date night" to find the kitchen in utter shambles. The loaf of bread was left open on the center island. A jar of peanut butter, complete with knife still sticking out of it, was nearby. There was also an open jar of marshmallow creme and the redolent scent of microwaved popcorn. While I went to go find the kids, Erin: 14 and Scot: 11, Wade investigated the gooey mess left to congeal in a pot on the stove.
The sounds of screaming led me to the den. The lights were off, but the TV had been left going on an old movie channel airing B-rate horror movies. By the flickering light of the TV, I could tell that the mess continued in here. Pop cans littered the floor and coffee table. No less than six plates, in varying degrees of dirty, added to the mess on the coffee table. It looked like the kids had pigged out on all the junk food in the house, and even created some of their own. The culprits in question were asleep at opposite ends of the sofa, in what appeared to be one massive sugar crash.
"Find them?" Wade asked quietly, waking up behind me.
"Yeah," I whispered back, pointing to the two. "What were they eating?"
"As far as I can tell, peanut butter s'mores and microwave popcorn balls," he chuckled.
I resisted the urge to laugh. They were inventive, if nothing else.
"What are we going to do with them?" I sighed.
"Leave 'em," Wade replied, simply. "Betcha when they're faced with the task of cleaning up after having slept on the couch, they won't be as eager to do this again."
I couldn't help a soft laugh. He was right about that. After we tucked blankets around the two, Wade and I headed upstairs to bed.
Quinnleigh Kincaid
Highlander OC
313 Words
