Grandmas Goulash

It was blatantly obvious that Elvis hadn’t left the building.  No peanut butter and banana sandwiches? What kind of restaurant was this?  Life was fickle. Once he had been hailed as King, now he was sitting next to a rack of cigar magazines. Blue Suede Shoes? These things feel more like stone.

This isn’t a litter box? Green eyes? Definitely. Green thumb? Not really. Where had Tom gone this time? That gadabout should be home mowing the lawn.

Dad’s Agenda Help kids make breakfast, watch them play, have dinner at his Mom’s house. He’s no chauvinist!  Mom’s Agenda Clean kitchen, retrieve naked kids from front lawn, apologize to neighbors and help his mother cook a big meal. Liberation? What’s that?  

Paul couldn’t believe his eyes. So much junk coalesced into one tiny space, but not a single cracker.   Polly wanted the cigars. Smoke? No way. These premium cigars were made from chocolate. She wasn’t sure why kids called them Tootsie Rolls. He felt very clever as he hid behind a pinwheel to catch the thieving parrots. Not so clever, when a breeze spun it into his eye.   I’ve heard the phrase, but I never really heard a parrot say it. Until now.