“How’s it goin’, Bob?” Abe asked as they bumped gunwales.
“Not bad,” Bob replied. “So far they’ve only spilled popcorn.” (More)
Midday Matinee is our people watching, people doing and people being feature. Join the Woodland Creatures for an afternoon break.
Welcome back to Tuesday’s Tale, a weekly feature where we collaborate to write a story. Previous Tuesday’s Tales include Scented Candles and Not Quite Pictures. We follow the basic rules of the “Yes, And” improvisational game – accept everything written so far as part of the story, and add your own paragraph (or so) where the last addition left off – except you needn’t begin your addition with “Yes, and.” I’ll start the story….
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Note: Today’s characters are carrying tourists around Washington, D.C.’s Tidal Basin.
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“Lucky you,” Abe said. “They dropped a cup of soda in me. My pedals are sticky.”
“Sorry to hear that,” Dianne groaned as she burbled past. “At least you don’t have to haul two sumo wrestlers.”
“I try to look on the bright side,” Bob said. “The cherry blossoms are pretty.”
“Why thank you!” Cherry replied. “And those aren’t sumo wrestlers, Dianne. Their ball caps have tractor logos.”
“They sure feel like sumo wrestlers,” Dianne replied. “If I weren’t filled with foam, I’d be swamped.”
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Have fun!
“Look at Edward,” Dianne grumbled. “All he’s carrying are two little girls.”
“Little girls with cotton candy,” Bob pointed out. “Have you forgotten what happened with the cotton candy last time.”
“Oh yikes,” said Cherry. “I had to go to the shop to be cleaned. My paddle wheel got all gummed up.” She paused. “I still don’t understand why it didn’t wash away.”
“Gear box,” Abe said shortly. “It’s not in the water. Ewww, listen to that popcorn grind.”
“I got an idea,” Dianne said as her entire frame shifted to one side. “We could stall out in the middle of the water.”
Bob brightened. “A rescue would be a nice change of pace. Think they’d call the fire department?”
“We’re surrounded by water,” Abe scoffed. Then he bobbed a little. “Oops, here I go again, heading out for another round.”
“Stall,” Dianne called after him.
“Edward, your drifting. Where are the folks watching the girls? Can the girls paddle or are they too busy with the cotton candy?”
“Huh?” Edward replied.
Bob sidled up to Abe. “Not the fastest boat in the basin, is he?”
“That he’s not,” Abe agreed, then called to Edward. “You’re drifting! Bring the girls back this way!”
“Can’t,” Edward called back.
It was Bob’s turn to “Huh?”
“The girls are giggling too hard to paddle,” Edward said, “and when they do paddle they can’t get in synch.”
“It’s the sugar rush,” Bob called. “Cotton candy is simply colored sugar water, spun through tiny nozzles to create microthin threads of sugar glass. Kids get hyperactive when the carbohydrates hit their bloodstreams.”
Bob nudged Abe again. “Like I said, a few links short of a chain.”
“Actually,” Edward said, “studies and meta-studies have disproved that common myth. In one study, a group of supposedly ‘sugar-sensitive’ boys were divided into two groups. One group of moms was told their kids were given sugar. The other moms were told their kids were given a placebo. In fact all of the kids were given the placebo, but the moms who were told their kids were given sugar rated their boys’ behavior significantly more active. The ‘sugar rush’ is about parents’ expectations, not children’s biochemistry.”
“Maybe he’s so slow after all,” Dianne burbled.
“I still want some excitement,” Bob said. “Remember when that senator came here with daughter, but he told the rental guy she was his wife.”
Cherry giggled. “She wasn’t his daughter, Bob. Or his wife.”
“Still,” Bob said. “It got exciting.”