Bob and Sandy were dog sitting a miniature schnauzer for friends when they received an invitation to go to the regional basketball game in Evansville to watch the hometown heroes vie for the championship. So they sub-let the biscuit eater to another friend.
Miniature Schnauzers are small, territorial, irritating dogs. Wormy decided he did not like the sub-let program so he snarled at the sub-lettee chasing him into the terlet and up on the porcelain throne where he stood to escape being gnawed to death. Later he tolerated the sub-lettee.
Bob and Sandy and children, journeyed to the afternoon game. The hometowners won so they stayed for the night game. They joined a party for alumni and friends festooned with the correct color of banners and decorations. "That's strange," Bob mused, "I don't recognize anyone. Maybe some will come later." They enjoyed the baked beans, potato salad, sausages in barbeque sauce, chips and salsa and brownies. Gradually they realized that they were in the enemy camp.
Self-conscious they scurried out of the room deciding to go on to the game: Bob drove, Sandy a passenger, kids in the back seat. Norman Rockwell could have used them as subjects for a painting. The gods of mischief entered and Bob developed a headache that would kill a rhinoceros. As all good wives and mothers do, Sandy rummaged about in her purse and found an aspirin but they had no liquid to take it. Bob declared that he could generate enough saliva to swallow said pill and he began to swish, and swash and blurgle his saliva to generate enough to provide a scholarship ride down the esophagus trail to the gastric sea thence to find the place of pain.
He was surprised that he was not generating enough liquid to float the pill boat. Undaunted he plunged onward. Tilting his head back he inserted the palliative pill in the puddle of saliva. However, the pill floundered in the Tonsil Straits causing him to ack and gack like a choking penguin trying to swallow a seal.
"I can do this," he hacked, "just a little more time." The longer he drove the more he gagged, croaked, gacked like a clogged garbage disposal. Finally, he realized that he was going to hurl, blow some chunks, puke. Desperate, he furtively looked for something to use as an air sick bag. The only container available was Sandy's open purse. The kids yelled ewwwww as Bob did his best Wyatt Earp impression and deposited his lunch and everything he had eaten in the past week and some things he was going to eat later, into her Aigner purse.
All Sandy could say was, "Oh, Bob." Chagrined she held her nose and reluctantly looked in and saw the usual and customary contents floating in a Sea of Urp like the flotsam and jetsam after the Titanic went down. After a thoughtful moment Sandy made a fateful decision about her sacrificial chalice. She delicately fished out her checkbook and her keys and then with a groan of resignation she flung the purse out the window with the deposits sluicing out trailing tiny streamers behind and it was never seen again.
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Larry Vandeventer grew up North of Calvertville on a farm and graduated from Worthington High School and Indiana State U. -- four times. He can be reached at Goosecrick@aol.com or 317-839-7656. Write him at 6860 Sunrise Drive, Plainfield, IN 46168.