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/ / / / / / Saturday, the LaVoir Clontz Elementary Valentine’s Fair… / / / / / /
Okay, maybe calling it going perfect that early was a jinx. Time for some background.
Patty Earls and her catty cat friend Kathy Cymric were both in the PTA. Not incredibly high-ranking, if the preestablished social circles were to have trustworthy judgment, but they were active members. Although Kathy considered herself a PTA dropout as she only got along with one of the two true higher powers of the initial-titled organization through pacifying assault fantasies.
So, at the beginning of the month of heart-decorations and annoyed single people, there was already planning underway for the school fair. Patty and Kathy both chose to take the first shifts for specific booths, the Duck Pond and Dunk Tank, respectively, so that they’d be able to pass on their duties to the next person and spend the better evening with their childrens. There was also a raffle for volunteers that included better quality, more expensive items, and Patty wanted the air-fryer and Kathy wanted the Robobot Build-Your-Hero set for her gadgeteering kitten girl.
And then the Caucasian human Caroline Cooke, the PTA Princess and Her Majesty of the HOA, who believed she commanded as much power as a gluten-free goddess in outdated skinny pants and fake nails, quickly raised her voice to offer her generosity in supplying booths with supplies, like ducks for the duck pond. Even to take up the shift after Patty’s. Though, for what happened the night before the fair would be officially open, Patty crossed her arms and shook her head at her past self of that first week of February that she didn’t try harder to decline Caroline’s quote-on-quote altruism in favor of doing the supplying herself like her first instinct told her to.
To brush away the confusion, if there were any stories read about a parent who would tell a disabled or handicapped individual to surrender their necessary aid vehicle such as a wheel chair so the cherub they pushed out their crotch could ride it, Caroline was at least in the vein of them. Mrs. Cooke was, alongside her husband Blake and one of their two children, Tripp the envisioned future legend of sports, of a group of people others prayed they’d never encounter within their community. And if they did, it wouldn’t be for an extended length of time.
For example, if a resident forgot to mow the lawn or trim the bushes in the front on time? They’d be threatened with jail time and a fine. If someone was going to the ice cream counter to experience the taste of a frozen treat dream? Caroline would look for any at the front without a child and say she had to go first or she might scream. And if Caroline Cooke was offering to foot the bill and cover someone else’s due? They’d better believe she’d comeback to do the same to them for something that was double in value.
Many prayed that Mayson, Caroline’s youngest and the truly angelic of the family, somehow retained his decency and would give his progenitors and sibling the middle finger goodbye at the earliest opportunity.
So, when Mrs. Cooke volunteered to get supplies, namely two-dozen weighted rubber duckies, it wasn’t a coincidence that she was also ordering some items for herself and needed more stuff to order to get the free shipping.
Back to that night before, the forecast had called for rain early that Saturday morning, so Patty decided it’d be best if she and Alex tested out the bath-time toys that were moonlighting as a prize-winning game. They get the little kiddy pool, filled it with water, and dumped in the ducks. And they all flopped on their sides like they were dead. Turns out Mrs. Cooke didn't order weighted ducks, she ordered regular ones. The collie and momma cow could’ve watched an instant replay of their heads dropping in frustrated realization that they should’ve been more suspicious when Mrs. Cooke told them she got the ducks at a better price.
Thus, Patty and Alex spent four hours fixing Caroline’s cheapness, the two rushing out in opposite directions to retrieve metal washers to weigh the ducks and get water-proof stickers to put over the washers to represent prize numbers. Kathy was a good sport as she willingly, groggily let herself be woken up to watch Patty’s house in case Rudy was roused. Even Buddy was exceptionally helpful in patrolled the front door with her favorite demo-helmet on and her custom-built mini-marshmallow cannon-mounted toy tank.
Patty and Alex got five hours of rest after the ordeal, and now they were currently standing at the Duck Pond and praying for noon to come soon, so that Alex could at least have that fun day with Rudy and his heifer at his side.
That wouldn’t happen like he, and they, wanted to as Caroline was already two hours late.
“I should’ve seen this coming.” Patty spoke out loud, rather than for the umpteenth time in the back of her head.
“This isn’t going how you planned I take it?” Kathy asked Alex covertly. Rudy had inevitably told Buddy, and then she told her mom, and then Kathy came jumping at Alex asking if it was true. Kathy did a dance after he confirmed it that would’ve outdone a football player at a touchdown.
Alex picked up one of the ducks in the kiddy pool and wiggled it at Patty. “Ain’t feelin’ so lucky. Ducky.” The collie said lightheartedly.
“Hey, puns are my thing.” Patty shot back, grinning nonetheless. Alex just called these happenings potholes in the road. They just had to wait for Caroline and then they could have the afternoon at the fair, leading up to the Musical Spectacular at the end where he’d propose under the sparkle of a firework finale.
Just when it seemed that Patty was going to abandon ship, Caroline, bringing her highlighted reverse-mullet personality alongside her ex-athlete husband and their two crotch goblins, at last showed up. Patty breathed a sigh of relief, but she was quickly confused when Caroline just passed by the booth. “Caroline? Caroline, hey!” Patty called out to the human woman, who turned around like she was wanting to sneer at who was wasting her time.
“Oh, Patty.” She curtly responded. “What is it, we have to get to the Cupid’s Quarrel Signup.”
“Uh, but, it’s your shift.” Patty reminded her.
“Shift?”
“Yes.” Patty elongated on the word, hinting that the momma cow really needed to peace out and take her calf out to the rest of the fair for fun and game. “Caroline, you agreed to take the latter shift for the Duck Pond, remember?”
“Patty, I don’t have time to talk, there are only so many spots for the balloon fight later and Tripp isn’t going to miss out.” Caroline tried to cut off, showing off her oldest son to Patty to get her to shut up.
“Cooke,” Kathy interjected. “My girl’s shift ended at twelve. You’re late, so get over here and start handing out these ducks that you cheaped out on.” The mother cat ordered, in a calmly cantankerous tone.
“Keep talking like that pussycat,” Caroline said back offensively. “And I’ll speak to Principal Barron about your attitude problem. Now excuse me, I’m taking my children to have fun and I’m not going to be absent for it for some silly game. Besides, I got you your supplies and we’re performing in the Musical Showcase, I’m doing my part.” The woman stated, oozing with entitlement, before flipping back to herding her family onward. Tripp turned his nose up at the aghast party like the little shit he was.
“Want to slap her. I’ll hold her down if you do,” Kathy offered. “Then do the same for me.” Alex was feeling like doing the same. Now he and Patty were stuck at their booth, both to honorable to simply abandon it, lest they unwittingly follow Caroline’s example.
“Mom, does this mean no fair?” Rudy asked. Patty forlornly looked at her son who likely just got robbed of an experience, and worse was that Rudy looked like Fridays got cancelled forever, and it was because Patty chose to trust an untrustworthy woman. And unfortunately, Principal Barron, who had the same number balls as a school administrator in a high school-centered sitcom toward the big guy on campus, would be on Caroline’s side if Patty chose to complain. Alex, on the other hand, wasn’t going to let Patty be beaten yet if he had anything to do about it.
“My dairy good lady,” Alex punned again. “I hereby throw myself to the lions and shall undertake the duty of escorting the children through the fair, if it so pleases thee.”
“Oh my gosh, would you?” Patty asked of Alex, ever so thankful.
“I swear by the burning ball of gas overhead, the fun shall be had.” Alex continued to ham, to which Rudy and Buddy hopped for joy around their moms.
“Thank you so much,” Patty then petted the soul patch on Alex’s chin, adding, “My hairy good man~” Alex chuckled and playfully swatted his heifer’s hand away.
“Cotton candy, here I come!” Rudy cheered, already pulling on Alex’s arm to get his coveted treat.
“Oh!” Kathy got Alex by the shoulder before he could get dragged away. “Make sure Buddy doesn’t eat anything with lactose in it. That means hot chocolate, ice cream, sour cream, butter… know what if it looks like something with a teat and goes moo was involved in the process of making it, don’t let her even touch it.” The mom cat warned.
“Mom, it’s not that bad.” Buddy defended.
“You hurled hard enough at that Iowa Renaissance fair to be a puke dragon.” Kathy reminded her daughter. “And Blake Cooke still has us banned from Round Table pizza after you—”
“Okay, ew, Mom, stop!” Buddy halted her Mom. Round Table pizza put Buddy on their blacklist after the kitten created a brown flood in their bathroom from their Grate-est Cheese Pizza. But Kathy was at fault too, as she wanted to teach her daughter, whose self-preservation was sometimes suspended, a lesson that her lactose intolerance was intolerant to lactose.
“I’ll make sure.” Alex guaranteed for Kathy still. “Ramblers. Let’s get rambling.” The collie moved out, holding both Rudy’s and Buddy’s hands to lead them out for that fun they almost missed out on.
Patty sighed, glad but incredibly disappointed that she couldn’t come along. And by the way Alex shared one more glance over his shoulder at her, he was regretful too, communicating that he imagined, even dreamed, that this day would be all of them side by side. But, by the way of one last grin and a wink, he promised that somehow the pieces would fall in the correct order to achieve that. Patty had to smile back and give Alex a thumbs up, and that was last wave goodbye for then as the collie charged into the fair with Rudy and Buddy ahead of him.
Kathy then put a hand on her friend’s shoulder, showing off a grin in the same spirit as Alex’s.
“Don’t worry, your top cat-woman’s right here,” the feline assured with a bigger grin.
“Uh, Ms. Cymric?” A meek, tired voice suddenly called her attention, and she looked to see, to her un-excitement, that it was Principal Barron. “We’ve got a problem at the dunk tank.” He started off, and the solution to the issue didn’t seem like it wasn’t going to involve her in some form.
Kathy may not have invoked the words, but it looks like the universe decided that things could get a little bit worse.
Meanwhile, or actually fifteen minutes later, Alex was chaperoning his little buddy and his little buddy’s buddy, Buddy, and they mutually decided, with Rudy calling it first, to try fair food. There weren’t any actual stands for food, but the school got a hold of three food trucks, one that served Tex-Mex, another with barbecue, and one that specialized in fried stuff that’d serve as filler at a county fair for the actual stars. So, no fried butter or fruit punch balls.
The little calf got the funnel cake, and Alex had to help him out with the strawberry syrup packet as the damn thing was impossible to tear, and Rudy didn’t want to use his teeth lest his mom find out. While his back was turned, Buddy got her own snack basket and was already inhaling the batter-fried finger food into her mouth-hole. They were disc-like, but Alex noticed some yellow peeking out of one of them, so they weren’t chicken nuggets. “That better not be cheese,” Alex warned her.
“They’re corn nuggets.” Buddy said quickly. Alex bought it, believing that the kitten had taken her mother’s warning to heart. As they walked away, though, Rudy got beside her.
“I thought you said corn was evil?” The calf said to her, half-inquiring.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to know that.” She said back sneakily, sure that she wasn’t going to regret her decision to eat cheese curds later.
Back at the Duck Pond, Patty was on her own as it seemed that the guy that was supposed to man the dunk tank as the fall guy had, ironically, come down with pneumonia and the dude minding the first shift wasn’t invested in doing double shifts. So, Kathy had been conscripted to do it. Kathy still wanted to get her kitten that builder set so she reluctantly, begrudgingly agreed. Luckily, she’d brought a change of clothes with her in her car, as she’d predicted, wrongfully now that she’d be in that colored water balloon fight at the end before the musical showcase with her kitten, her breast friend and her calf.
The momma cow just grinned and bared it, waving at everyone who passed by and taking tickets for any kid who wanted to flip one of the ducks for a prize. Usually they’d just get the goody bags, but one of them managed to get their hands on the egg full of splat slime. Patty just kept imagining that once the Love of Love Songs Revue began, she could close the booth and be with her collie and their calf… Huh, their calf. Patty blushed and smiled warmly to herself. Rudy was hers and Alex’s boy now, he was.
“Ahem,” a high-opinioned, self-important cough got her out of her pleasant day-dreaming and met with the nightmare woman herself, Caroline Cooke with her family horde. “People shouldn’t be distracted while they’re working,” Cooke scolded. Patty managed to withhold a well-deserved, tired groan and grinned at the woman as friendly-like as possible.
“Would you like to try for a prize?” The heifer offered.
“The slingshot toy!” Mayson exclaimed, the squat and stick-limbed little angel with a crewcut jabbing his finger toward his desired prize. It was a mascot toy, a squirrely-squirrel with a pair of aviator goggles, pilot’s cap, and a red scarf, named Skylar Stratosphere. She had two rubber-tubes at her wrists, hidden in her arms, and a pocket on each paw for a finger so that little kids could pull her back and send her flying. Nearly eight kids tried to get her, and none succeeded.
“Today might be your lucky day,” Patty hyped. Cooke gave the Holstein the correct amount of tickets and Mayson, without thinking about it, just reached for the closest ducky.
“I win!” Mayson cheered, not knowing if he actually got the one that was for Skylar. Poor him, it wasn’t.
“Congratulations.” Patty said to him in a peppy tone. “You won this yummy treat!” She reached over to the prize shelf and grabbed the POP-CORNUCOPIA, a conical, carnival color-coordinated bag full of caramel corn that had a delicious drizzle of chocolate over each popped kernel. Mayson’s eyes got so wide and a grin that could’ve energized a battery cut across his cute face.
“Uh-uh,” Caroline cut in quickly, putting the brakes on her son’s enthusiasm. “He wanted the toy, that’s what he’s winning.”
“But Mom, now I wan—”
“No, Mayson, you’re getting the toy, not that bag of bad-for-you.” Caroline squashed her youngest’s sugar fantasies, and Patty looked at him apologetically.
“If he still wants the toy,” the momma cow started diplomatically. “He’ll have to play again and pick the ducky that has it’s number.” Caroline looked like she wanted to argue that Patty should just give Skylar to him anyway, but thankfully she just handed over another exact amount of red tickets. Patty stirred the Duck Pond again and, as though he was a cobra who’d found his afternoon snack, Mayson snapped his hand down and grabbed another duck.
As luck or fortune or destiny would ordain, that duck was the exact same one that was for the Pop-Cornucopia. Like previously, Caroline told him to put it back, he wasn’t going to stuff his face with starch and sugar.
If there was truly a cosmic force in the known universe that manipulated the strands of probability and fate, it was at work around that themed-fair game as Mayson, somehow, managed to randomly select the ducky that matched to the Pop-Cornucopia four more times. And Caroline’s and Patty’s face got redder and redder, the shift-skipping mother in name because life shouldn’t be making it so hard for her and the mother cow because she was trying not to laugh at Caroline’s expression.
“Mom, I won it, I—” Mayson tried, futilely, to argue that he should have the treat, but Caroline wouldn’t hear it or let him think about voicing his protests and snatched the offending little duck out of his hands.
“I said no.”
“But it isn’t fair, you let Tripp eat what he wants.” Mayson plead.
“That’s because he’s an athlete, he needs the carbs and sugars.” She said too proudly, patting oldest son’s head as he struck a chest-beating pose. Mayson deflated, and Patty lost all the humor she was seeing at how hurt the poor kid looked. “The toy is what you’re getting,” Caroline said with finality.
“I’ll need another—” Patty began, but Mrs. Cooke cut her to the quick.
“You’re giving him the toy like he wants.” She spoke for Mayson.
“… No, you… he has to pick the winning ducky, so I need—”
“Just give it to him, it’s what he wanted.”
“I can’t, what if someone else comes by and picks—”
“Do you see anyone else coming over, hm?” Caroline interrupted again, and this time her husband and Tripp were joining in their mother’s horrid treatment toward Patty.
“Come on, sweetheart, just hand it over.” Blake told the mother cow.
“Yeah, sweetheart, just hand it over.” Tripp copied his dad’s bad example.
“He won the popcorn bag.” Patty told them, folding her arms. “Just let your poor kid have it.”
“Just because you let your little fatty stuff his face doesn’t mean I’ll let mine.” Caroline barbed, indignantly.
“I beg your pardon,” Patty toned in low, the fur on her neck instantly bristling as the entitled woman had indirectly insulted her little maverick.
“What?” Caroline asked in honestly, really wondering what she could’ve said to make Patty take the tone of voice the heifer was aiming at her. “Gah, whatever, just do your job and give—"
“No.” Patty cut her off, and now Caroline was tasting her own bitter medicine, looking ready to unleash an “excuse me” upon the mother cow. “You skipped your shift, you got me the wrong supplies, you be mean to your son, you insult my kid and you still try to get a toy you didn’t win.”
“You can’t speak to me that way, I—”
“Leave, only God could convince me to give you the Skylar toy.” Patty didn’t care anymore. No one said a bad thing about her calf, no one.
“Keep talking and I’ll have you removed from the raffle.” Caroline threatened, and poor Mayson was doing his best to vanish and apologize to Patty with his eyes. Kid had more responsibility for others’ actions than his mother did for her own.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” A new voice chimed, with a signature dialect that could only be for one person in every lifetime. Patty turned to it and saw it was lion cub in observatory telescope strength glasses and his hair neatly combed back.
“Hiya, Daniel.” Patty said in a newly chipper tone, recognizing the cub right away.
“I want to have a go, please.” Daniel said politely, offering the appropriate amount of tickets. She took them and Daniel turned into a hard-boiled detective as he knelt before the kiddie pool to select his duck.
“Hey, I’m still waiting for that toy!” Caroline barged in, still falsely believing she was owed the slingshot doll. “And an apology after that for your rudeness,” She added rudely, ironically enough.
“Shh.” Daniel shushed to her. “I must concentrate,” The cub told her, his focus not to be broken.
“Young man, you—”
“Shhh.” Daniel shushed her again, this time with a finger. Caroline kept trying, but each time the hyper-attended lion kept quieting her to allow him to pick his duck.
“Ugh, know what, forget him. Ms. Earls, no one else has taken that toy yet and I think I deserve it for all the trouble you’ve caused me,” Caroline stamped, asserting her misconceived right toward Skylar toy further. “So, hand it over and this can be easi—”
“It is done!” Daniel stood up triumphantly, showing the bottom of his selected ducky to Patty. The mother cow, without saying anything, looked Caroline in the eyes, and waltzed over to Skylar Stratosphere. Caroline smiled at first, thinking that Patty was finally cooperating with her demand-stuffed requests, only for the heifer to hand the doll to Daniel. “Woo-hoo! Yes! This afternoon is mine, and so will tonight!”
“Yessir, Daniel Fangwood. And you won her fair and square.” Patty said, uncharacteristically smug, and she hadn’t broken eye contact with Caroline, who now looked like a tomato who just ate a hot pepper.
“Uh, wuh, yuh, buh…” Caroline stammered as Daniel ran away with his prize to show off to his two brothers and parents.
“Before you accuse me of anything,” Patty spoke up before Caroline could throw blame at the mother cow for spiting the bleached-blonde woman, and showed the bottom of the duck to Mrs. Cooke. “6-Blue, the exact number and color for the Skylar Stratosphere toy. Someone claimed it before you did, so he gets it.
“Sorry about that, baby.” She quickly offered her condolences to Mayson, who mumbled a quick okay under his breath to the mother cow. Caroline just growled in her throat and grabbed her youngest by the wrist and dragged him away to elsewhere, while Blake and Tripp followed after, giving mirrored and sour looks at Patty. She simply sighed and refocused herself back to thoughts of her Rudy and her Alex.
While that had happened, Alex was towing behind Rudy and Buddy as they tried to decide what game they should play some games. Buddy decided that she wanted to do a game of Knock Down the Clowns. “This my chance to calibrate the proper throwing power to create my homemade bazooka,” Buddy claimed.
The kitten was going to sprout a crazy hairdo and wear goggles and a lab coat in her future profession as a mad weapon’s designer, Alex could feel it.
The kitten handed her tickets to the booth operator, who looked like Lassie with a haircut, noted by none other than Buddy, and was given twelve baseballs to toss. She was about ready to cock her arm to pitch the hide-bound ball of cork at the rows of hinge-fastened harlequins that mocked her with painted on smiles. Then an unfriendly voice with a face and a snatching hand to match pulled it out of her hand. “Hey, woah, sweetheart, not so fast.” Tripp Cooke had harshly, discourteously stolen the ball out of Buddy’s hand, and Buddy wasn’t too chummy about that.
“Hey, give that back, jerk!” She told him coarsely. “I was here first!”
“Kid, not cool.” Alex scolded at the uncouth youth. “Give it back to her.”
“Zip the lip, onion dip.” Tripp talked back at the collie.
“Alex isn’t an onion dip!” Rudy defended his biggest buddy.
“Pfft, whatever, Shannon.” Tripp insulted, carrying on his father’s impolite method of showing off apparent disrespect. “Girl was going to throw it like a girl, so I’m gonna show you all how it’s done.”
“Show him, Superstar.” Blake encouraged, with Caroline clapping and whooping for her boy. The booth operator asked for tickets first before Tripp could throw, and he did, to which the crude lad made a show of winding up his winning throws.
Tripp wasn’t the sharpshooter he believed he was, however, which was why he was the kicker rather than the quarterback on the LaVoir Clontz junior football team. So, three-fourths of the time, the baseball either hit the rim of the table shelfs the cloth clowns were stood up upon or missed them all together. The remaining fourth had him nearly hit the booth operator. Tripp growled and accused the game of skill to be rigged. He got a tiny finger-tip green alien friend as a consolation prize, though.
“Now, excuse me.” Buddy ahem’d, stepping back into place to retake her stolen turn. Tripp rolled his eyes at her and smirked conceitedly. She was a girl, how could she possibly throw better than him, a true radical at athletics and eventual ultimate jock. The kitten only spared him a half-cocked smirk of her own, and on the booth operator’s signal, she let it roar.
She let the twelve balls she had fly, one after another, and each one flew true. One by one, the clowns went down. To top it off, she ran as far back as she could, sprinted to the booth, prepared to throw the last ball as hard as she could. And then she just threw it, how Tripp would’ve called it, like a girl, using just her wrist to chuck it and strike down the last clown. Buddy looked over her shoulder at a jaw-dropped Tripp, making a finger gun and blowing at her finger-tip. Tripp just got owned.
The deal was sweetened when the operator handed over to Buddy a panda bear that was as big as she was, who she handed over to Rudy who dropped his latest fair snack to hug the black-n-white stuffed fluff buddy.
“Woo! Nice shooting, Annie Oakley! Girl power!” Alex congratulated, high-fiving Buddy.
“You cheated it!” Tripp accused, trying to save face and his pride.
“No, you’re just a sore loser.” Rudy remarked at Tripp.
“And a poor shot.” Buddy added with snark. Tripp’s chest puffed up and his eyes inflamed, balling up his fists like he wanted to hit someone. But he couldn’t hit girls, so he just stuck his tongue out and went stomping back to his parents, where Blake just fed him false predictions that he was a natural, and gave the rare good advice of working harder. The grown-up benched sportsman forgot to include that an attitude adjustment was what Tripp needed to work on more.
“Come on, crackshot,” Alex ushered to Buddy. “See if you can beat that stupid-hard ring-toss game. That thing’s ruined my childhood, and I demand vengeance!” The collie hammed, raising his fist to the sky in goofy-rage, getting Rudy and Buddy to laugh at him. Buddy then halted and lightly clutched her stomach when it gurgled, feeling something rumble the churn her gastric juices and reached up to the uvula in her throat. “You okay?” Alex asked, noticing her brief stop.
“Y-yeah, just burped in my mouth,” the kitten fibbed. Rudy saw through it and gestured with his head to tell Alex that she lied about those “corn nuggets” earlier. “I’m okay,” the hard-headed Buddy assured.
Alex looked at her, and suspected that she was indeed hiding something. But he trusted that Buddy listened to her mother and didn’t do something she shouldn’t have, and moved the kids back along the path.
Okay, maybe calling it going perfect that early was a jinx. Time for some background.
Patty Earls and her catty cat friend Kathy Cymric were both in the PTA. Not incredibly high-ranking, if the preestablished social circles were to have trustworthy judgment, but they were active members. Although Kathy considered herself a PTA dropout as she only got along with one of the two true higher powers of the initial-titled organization through pacifying assault fantasies.
So, at the beginning of the month of heart-decorations and annoyed single people, there was already planning underway for the school fair. Patty and Kathy both chose to take the first shifts for specific booths, the Duck Pond and Dunk Tank, respectively, so that they’d be able to pass on their duties to the next person and spend the better evening with their childrens. There was also a raffle for volunteers that included better quality, more expensive items, and Patty wanted the air-fryer and Kathy wanted the Robobot Build-Your-Hero set for her gadgeteering kitten girl.
And then the Caucasian human Caroline Cooke, the PTA Princess and Her Majesty of the HOA, who believed she commanded as much power as a gluten-free goddess in outdated skinny pants and fake nails, quickly raised her voice to offer her generosity in supplying booths with supplies, like ducks for the duck pond. Even to take up the shift after Patty’s. Though, for what happened the night before the fair would be officially open, Patty crossed her arms and shook her head at her past self of that first week of February that she didn’t try harder to decline Caroline’s quote-on-quote altruism in favor of doing the supplying herself like her first instinct told her to.
To brush away the confusion, if there were any stories read about a parent who would tell a disabled or handicapped individual to surrender their necessary aid vehicle such as a wheel chair so the cherub they pushed out their crotch could ride it, Caroline was at least in the vein of them. Mrs. Cooke was, alongside her husband Blake and one of their two children, Tripp the envisioned future legend of sports, of a group of people others prayed they’d never encounter within their community. And if they did, it wouldn’t be for an extended length of time.
For example, if a resident forgot to mow the lawn or trim the bushes in the front on time? They’d be threatened with jail time and a fine. If someone was going to the ice cream counter to experience the taste of a frozen treat dream? Caroline would look for any at the front without a child and say she had to go first or she might scream. And if Caroline Cooke was offering to foot the bill and cover someone else’s due? They’d better believe she’d comeback to do the same to them for something that was double in value.
Many prayed that Mayson, Caroline’s youngest and the truly angelic of the family, somehow retained his decency and would give his progenitors and sibling the middle finger goodbye at the earliest opportunity.
So, when Mrs. Cooke volunteered to get supplies, namely two-dozen weighted rubber duckies, it wasn’t a coincidence that she was also ordering some items for herself and needed more stuff to order to get the free shipping.
Back to that night before, the forecast had called for rain early that Saturday morning, so Patty decided it’d be best if she and Alex tested out the bath-time toys that were moonlighting as a prize-winning game. They get the little kiddy pool, filled it with water, and dumped in the ducks. And they all flopped on their sides like they were dead. Turns out Mrs. Cooke didn't order weighted ducks, she ordered regular ones. The collie and momma cow could’ve watched an instant replay of their heads dropping in frustrated realization that they should’ve been more suspicious when Mrs. Cooke told them she got the ducks at a better price.
Thus, Patty and Alex spent four hours fixing Caroline’s cheapness, the two rushing out in opposite directions to retrieve metal washers to weigh the ducks and get water-proof stickers to put over the washers to represent prize numbers. Kathy was a good sport as she willingly, groggily let herself be woken up to watch Patty’s house in case Rudy was roused. Even Buddy was exceptionally helpful in patrolled the front door with her favorite demo-helmet on and her custom-built mini-marshmallow cannon-mounted toy tank.
Patty and Alex got five hours of rest after the ordeal, and now they were currently standing at the Duck Pond and praying for noon to come soon, so that Alex could at least have that fun day with Rudy and his heifer at his side.
That wouldn’t happen like he, and they, wanted to as Caroline was already two hours late.
“I should’ve seen this coming.” Patty spoke out loud, rather than for the umpteenth time in the back of her head.
“This isn’t going how you planned I take it?” Kathy asked Alex covertly. Rudy had inevitably told Buddy, and then she told her mom, and then Kathy came jumping at Alex asking if it was true. Kathy did a dance after he confirmed it that would’ve outdone a football player at a touchdown.
Alex picked up one of the ducks in the kiddy pool and wiggled it at Patty. “Ain’t feelin’ so lucky. Ducky.” The collie said lightheartedly.
“Hey, puns are my thing.” Patty shot back, grinning nonetheless. Alex just called these happenings potholes in the road. They just had to wait for Caroline and then they could have the afternoon at the fair, leading up to the Musical Spectacular at the end where he’d propose under the sparkle of a firework finale.
Just when it seemed that Patty was going to abandon ship, Caroline, bringing her highlighted reverse-mullet personality alongside her ex-athlete husband and their two crotch goblins, at last showed up. Patty breathed a sigh of relief, but she was quickly confused when Caroline just passed by the booth. “Caroline? Caroline, hey!” Patty called out to the human woman, who turned around like she was wanting to sneer at who was wasting her time.
“Oh, Patty.” She curtly responded. “What is it, we have to get to the Cupid’s Quarrel Signup.”
“Uh, but, it’s your shift.” Patty reminded her.
“Shift?”
“Yes.” Patty elongated on the word, hinting that the momma cow really needed to peace out and take her calf out to the rest of the fair for fun and game. “Caroline, you agreed to take the latter shift for the Duck Pond, remember?”
“Patty, I don’t have time to talk, there are only so many spots for the balloon fight later and Tripp isn’t going to miss out.” Caroline tried to cut off, showing off her oldest son to Patty to get her to shut up.
“Cooke,” Kathy interjected. “My girl’s shift ended at twelve. You’re late, so get over here and start handing out these ducks that you cheaped out on.” The mother cat ordered, in a calmly cantankerous tone.
“Keep talking like that pussycat,” Caroline said back offensively. “And I’ll speak to Principal Barron about your attitude problem. Now excuse me, I’m taking my children to have fun and I’m not going to be absent for it for some silly game. Besides, I got you your supplies and we’re performing in the Musical Showcase, I’m doing my part.” The woman stated, oozing with entitlement, before flipping back to herding her family onward. Tripp turned his nose up at the aghast party like the little shit he was.
“Want to slap her. I’ll hold her down if you do,” Kathy offered. “Then do the same for me.” Alex was feeling like doing the same. Now he and Patty were stuck at their booth, both to honorable to simply abandon it, lest they unwittingly follow Caroline’s example.
“Mom, does this mean no fair?” Rudy asked. Patty forlornly looked at her son who likely just got robbed of an experience, and worse was that Rudy looked like Fridays got cancelled forever, and it was because Patty chose to trust an untrustworthy woman. And unfortunately, Principal Barron, who had the same number balls as a school administrator in a high school-centered sitcom toward the big guy on campus, would be on Caroline’s side if Patty chose to complain. Alex, on the other hand, wasn’t going to let Patty be beaten yet if he had anything to do about it.
“My dairy good lady,” Alex punned again. “I hereby throw myself to the lions and shall undertake the duty of escorting the children through the fair, if it so pleases thee.”
“Oh my gosh, would you?” Patty asked of Alex, ever so thankful.
“I swear by the burning ball of gas overhead, the fun shall be had.” Alex continued to ham, to which Rudy and Buddy hopped for joy around their moms.
“Thank you so much,” Patty then petted the soul patch on Alex’s chin, adding, “My hairy good man~” Alex chuckled and playfully swatted his heifer’s hand away.
“Cotton candy, here I come!” Rudy cheered, already pulling on Alex’s arm to get his coveted treat.
“Oh!” Kathy got Alex by the shoulder before he could get dragged away. “Make sure Buddy doesn’t eat anything with lactose in it. That means hot chocolate, ice cream, sour cream, butter… know what if it looks like something with a teat and goes moo was involved in the process of making it, don’t let her even touch it.” The mom cat warned.
“Mom, it’s not that bad.” Buddy defended.
“You hurled hard enough at that Iowa Renaissance fair to be a puke dragon.” Kathy reminded her daughter. “And Blake Cooke still has us banned from Round Table pizza after you—”
“Okay, ew, Mom, stop!” Buddy halted her Mom. Round Table pizza put Buddy on their blacklist after the kitten created a brown flood in their bathroom from their Grate-est Cheese Pizza. But Kathy was at fault too, as she wanted to teach her daughter, whose self-preservation was sometimes suspended, a lesson that her lactose intolerance was intolerant to lactose.
“I’ll make sure.” Alex guaranteed for Kathy still. “Ramblers. Let’s get rambling.” The collie moved out, holding both Rudy’s and Buddy’s hands to lead them out for that fun they almost missed out on.
Patty sighed, glad but incredibly disappointed that she couldn’t come along. And by the way Alex shared one more glance over his shoulder at her, he was regretful too, communicating that he imagined, even dreamed, that this day would be all of them side by side. But, by the way of one last grin and a wink, he promised that somehow the pieces would fall in the correct order to achieve that. Patty had to smile back and give Alex a thumbs up, and that was last wave goodbye for then as the collie charged into the fair with Rudy and Buddy ahead of him.
Kathy then put a hand on her friend’s shoulder, showing off a grin in the same spirit as Alex’s.
“Don’t worry, your top cat-woman’s right here,” the feline assured with a bigger grin.
“Uh, Ms. Cymric?” A meek, tired voice suddenly called her attention, and she looked to see, to her un-excitement, that it was Principal Barron. “We’ve got a problem at the dunk tank.” He started off, and the solution to the issue didn’t seem like it wasn’t going to involve her in some form.
Kathy may not have invoked the words, but it looks like the universe decided that things could get a little bit worse.
Meanwhile, or actually fifteen minutes later, Alex was chaperoning his little buddy and his little buddy’s buddy, Buddy, and they mutually decided, with Rudy calling it first, to try fair food. There weren’t any actual stands for food, but the school got a hold of three food trucks, one that served Tex-Mex, another with barbecue, and one that specialized in fried stuff that’d serve as filler at a county fair for the actual stars. So, no fried butter or fruit punch balls.
The little calf got the funnel cake, and Alex had to help him out with the strawberry syrup packet as the damn thing was impossible to tear, and Rudy didn’t want to use his teeth lest his mom find out. While his back was turned, Buddy got her own snack basket and was already inhaling the batter-fried finger food into her mouth-hole. They were disc-like, but Alex noticed some yellow peeking out of one of them, so they weren’t chicken nuggets. “That better not be cheese,” Alex warned her.
“They’re corn nuggets.” Buddy said quickly. Alex bought it, believing that the kitten had taken her mother’s warning to heart. As they walked away, though, Rudy got beside her.
“I thought you said corn was evil?” The calf said to her, half-inquiring.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t have to know that.” She said back sneakily, sure that she wasn’t going to regret her decision to eat cheese curds later.
Back at the Duck Pond, Patty was on her own as it seemed that the guy that was supposed to man the dunk tank as the fall guy had, ironically, come down with pneumonia and the dude minding the first shift wasn’t invested in doing double shifts. So, Kathy had been conscripted to do it. Kathy still wanted to get her kitten that builder set so she reluctantly, begrudgingly agreed. Luckily, she’d brought a change of clothes with her in her car, as she’d predicted, wrongfully now that she’d be in that colored water balloon fight at the end before the musical showcase with her kitten, her breast friend and her calf.
The momma cow just grinned and bared it, waving at everyone who passed by and taking tickets for any kid who wanted to flip one of the ducks for a prize. Usually they’d just get the goody bags, but one of them managed to get their hands on the egg full of splat slime. Patty just kept imagining that once the Love of Love Songs Revue began, she could close the booth and be with her collie and their calf… Huh, their calf. Patty blushed and smiled warmly to herself. Rudy was hers and Alex’s boy now, he was.
“Ahem,” a high-opinioned, self-important cough got her out of her pleasant day-dreaming and met with the nightmare woman herself, Caroline Cooke with her family horde. “People shouldn’t be distracted while they’re working,” Cooke scolded. Patty managed to withhold a well-deserved, tired groan and grinned at the woman as friendly-like as possible.
“Would you like to try for a prize?” The heifer offered.
“The slingshot toy!” Mayson exclaimed, the squat and stick-limbed little angel with a crewcut jabbing his finger toward his desired prize. It was a mascot toy, a squirrely-squirrel with a pair of aviator goggles, pilot’s cap, and a red scarf, named Skylar Stratosphere. She had two rubber-tubes at her wrists, hidden in her arms, and a pocket on each paw for a finger so that little kids could pull her back and send her flying. Nearly eight kids tried to get her, and none succeeded.
“Today might be your lucky day,” Patty hyped. Cooke gave the Holstein the correct amount of tickets and Mayson, without thinking about it, just reached for the closest ducky.
“I win!” Mayson cheered, not knowing if he actually got the one that was for Skylar. Poor him, it wasn’t.
“Congratulations.” Patty said to him in a peppy tone. “You won this yummy treat!” She reached over to the prize shelf and grabbed the POP-CORNUCOPIA, a conical, carnival color-coordinated bag full of caramel corn that had a delicious drizzle of chocolate over each popped kernel. Mayson’s eyes got so wide and a grin that could’ve energized a battery cut across his cute face.
“Uh-uh,” Caroline cut in quickly, putting the brakes on her son’s enthusiasm. “He wanted the toy, that’s what he’s winning.”
“But Mom, now I wan—”
“No, Mayson, you’re getting the toy, not that bag of bad-for-you.” Caroline squashed her youngest’s sugar fantasies, and Patty looked at him apologetically.
“If he still wants the toy,” the momma cow started diplomatically. “He’ll have to play again and pick the ducky that has it’s number.” Caroline looked like she wanted to argue that Patty should just give Skylar to him anyway, but thankfully she just handed over another exact amount of red tickets. Patty stirred the Duck Pond again and, as though he was a cobra who’d found his afternoon snack, Mayson snapped his hand down and grabbed another duck.
As luck or fortune or destiny would ordain, that duck was the exact same one that was for the Pop-Cornucopia. Like previously, Caroline told him to put it back, he wasn’t going to stuff his face with starch and sugar.
If there was truly a cosmic force in the known universe that manipulated the strands of probability and fate, it was at work around that themed-fair game as Mayson, somehow, managed to randomly select the ducky that matched to the Pop-Cornucopia four more times. And Caroline’s and Patty’s face got redder and redder, the shift-skipping mother in name because life shouldn’t be making it so hard for her and the mother cow because she was trying not to laugh at Caroline’s expression.
“Mom, I won it, I—” Mayson tried, futilely, to argue that he should have the treat, but Caroline wouldn’t hear it or let him think about voicing his protests and snatched the offending little duck out of his hands.
“I said no.”
“But it isn’t fair, you let Tripp eat what he wants.” Mayson plead.
“That’s because he’s an athlete, he needs the carbs and sugars.” She said too proudly, patting oldest son’s head as he struck a chest-beating pose. Mayson deflated, and Patty lost all the humor she was seeing at how hurt the poor kid looked. “The toy is what you’re getting,” Caroline said with finality.
“I’ll need another—” Patty began, but Mrs. Cooke cut her to the quick.
“You’re giving him the toy like he wants.” She spoke for Mayson.
“… No, you… he has to pick the winning ducky, so I need—”
“Just give it to him, it’s what he wanted.”
“I can’t, what if someone else comes by and picks—”
“Do you see anyone else coming over, hm?” Caroline interrupted again, and this time her husband and Tripp were joining in their mother’s horrid treatment toward Patty.
“Come on, sweetheart, just hand it over.” Blake told the mother cow.
“Yeah, sweetheart, just hand it over.” Tripp copied his dad’s bad example.
“He won the popcorn bag.” Patty told them, folding her arms. “Just let your poor kid have it.”
“Just because you let your little fatty stuff his face doesn’t mean I’ll let mine.” Caroline barbed, indignantly.
“I beg your pardon,” Patty toned in low, the fur on her neck instantly bristling as the entitled woman had indirectly insulted her little maverick.
“What?” Caroline asked in honestly, really wondering what she could’ve said to make Patty take the tone of voice the heifer was aiming at her. “Gah, whatever, just do your job and give—"
“No.” Patty cut her off, and now Caroline was tasting her own bitter medicine, looking ready to unleash an “excuse me” upon the mother cow. “You skipped your shift, you got me the wrong supplies, you be mean to your son, you insult my kid and you still try to get a toy you didn’t win.”
“You can’t speak to me that way, I—”
“Leave, only God could convince me to give you the Skylar toy.” Patty didn’t care anymore. No one said a bad thing about her calf, no one.
“Keep talking and I’ll have you removed from the raffle.” Caroline threatened, and poor Mayson was doing his best to vanish and apologize to Patty with his eyes. Kid had more responsibility for others’ actions than his mother did for her own.
“Excuse me, ma’am?” A new voice chimed, with a signature dialect that could only be for one person in every lifetime. Patty turned to it and saw it was lion cub in observatory telescope strength glasses and his hair neatly combed back.
“Hiya, Daniel.” Patty said in a newly chipper tone, recognizing the cub right away.
“I want to have a go, please.” Daniel said politely, offering the appropriate amount of tickets. She took them and Daniel turned into a hard-boiled detective as he knelt before the kiddie pool to select his duck.
“Hey, I’m still waiting for that toy!” Caroline barged in, still falsely believing she was owed the slingshot doll. “And an apology after that for your rudeness,” She added rudely, ironically enough.
“Shh.” Daniel shushed to her. “I must concentrate,” The cub told her, his focus not to be broken.
“Young man, you—”
“Shhh.” Daniel shushed her again, this time with a finger. Caroline kept trying, but each time the hyper-attended lion kept quieting her to allow him to pick his duck.
“Ugh, know what, forget him. Ms. Earls, no one else has taken that toy yet and I think I deserve it for all the trouble you’ve caused me,” Caroline stamped, asserting her misconceived right toward Skylar toy further. “So, hand it over and this can be easi—”
“It is done!” Daniel stood up triumphantly, showing the bottom of his selected ducky to Patty. The mother cow, without saying anything, looked Caroline in the eyes, and waltzed over to Skylar Stratosphere. Caroline smiled at first, thinking that Patty was finally cooperating with her demand-stuffed requests, only for the heifer to hand the doll to Daniel. “Woo-hoo! Yes! This afternoon is mine, and so will tonight!”
“Yessir, Daniel Fangwood. And you won her fair and square.” Patty said, uncharacteristically smug, and she hadn’t broken eye contact with Caroline, who now looked like a tomato who just ate a hot pepper.
“Uh, wuh, yuh, buh…” Caroline stammered as Daniel ran away with his prize to show off to his two brothers and parents.
“Before you accuse me of anything,” Patty spoke up before Caroline could throw blame at the mother cow for spiting the bleached-blonde woman, and showed the bottom of the duck to Mrs. Cooke. “6-Blue, the exact number and color for the Skylar Stratosphere toy. Someone claimed it before you did, so he gets it.
“Sorry about that, baby.” She quickly offered her condolences to Mayson, who mumbled a quick okay under his breath to the mother cow. Caroline just growled in her throat and grabbed her youngest by the wrist and dragged him away to elsewhere, while Blake and Tripp followed after, giving mirrored and sour looks at Patty. She simply sighed and refocused herself back to thoughts of her Rudy and her Alex.
While that had happened, Alex was towing behind Rudy and Buddy as they tried to decide what game they should play some games. Buddy decided that she wanted to do a game of Knock Down the Clowns. “This my chance to calibrate the proper throwing power to create my homemade bazooka,” Buddy claimed.
The kitten was going to sprout a crazy hairdo and wear goggles and a lab coat in her future profession as a mad weapon’s designer, Alex could feel it.
The kitten handed her tickets to the booth operator, who looked like Lassie with a haircut, noted by none other than Buddy, and was given twelve baseballs to toss. She was about ready to cock her arm to pitch the hide-bound ball of cork at the rows of hinge-fastened harlequins that mocked her with painted on smiles. Then an unfriendly voice with a face and a snatching hand to match pulled it out of her hand. “Hey, woah, sweetheart, not so fast.” Tripp Cooke had harshly, discourteously stolen the ball out of Buddy’s hand, and Buddy wasn’t too chummy about that.
“Hey, give that back, jerk!” She told him coarsely. “I was here first!”
“Kid, not cool.” Alex scolded at the uncouth youth. “Give it back to her.”
“Zip the lip, onion dip.” Tripp talked back at the collie.
“Alex isn’t an onion dip!” Rudy defended his biggest buddy.
“Pfft, whatever, Shannon.” Tripp insulted, carrying on his father’s impolite method of showing off apparent disrespect. “Girl was going to throw it like a girl, so I’m gonna show you all how it’s done.”
“Show him, Superstar.” Blake encouraged, with Caroline clapping and whooping for her boy. The booth operator asked for tickets first before Tripp could throw, and he did, to which the crude lad made a show of winding up his winning throws.
Tripp wasn’t the sharpshooter he believed he was, however, which was why he was the kicker rather than the quarterback on the LaVoir Clontz junior football team. So, three-fourths of the time, the baseball either hit the rim of the table shelfs the cloth clowns were stood up upon or missed them all together. The remaining fourth had him nearly hit the booth operator. Tripp growled and accused the game of skill to be rigged. He got a tiny finger-tip green alien friend as a consolation prize, though.
“Now, excuse me.” Buddy ahem’d, stepping back into place to retake her stolen turn. Tripp rolled his eyes at her and smirked conceitedly. She was a girl, how could she possibly throw better than him, a true radical at athletics and eventual ultimate jock. The kitten only spared him a half-cocked smirk of her own, and on the booth operator’s signal, she let it roar.
She let the twelve balls she had fly, one after another, and each one flew true. One by one, the clowns went down. To top it off, she ran as far back as she could, sprinted to the booth, prepared to throw the last ball as hard as she could. And then she just threw it, how Tripp would’ve called it, like a girl, using just her wrist to chuck it and strike down the last clown. Buddy looked over her shoulder at a jaw-dropped Tripp, making a finger gun and blowing at her finger-tip. Tripp just got owned.
The deal was sweetened when the operator handed over to Buddy a panda bear that was as big as she was, who she handed over to Rudy who dropped his latest fair snack to hug the black-n-white stuffed fluff buddy.
“Woo! Nice shooting, Annie Oakley! Girl power!” Alex congratulated, high-fiving Buddy.
“You cheated it!” Tripp accused, trying to save face and his pride.
“No, you’re just a sore loser.” Rudy remarked at Tripp.
“And a poor shot.” Buddy added with snark. Tripp’s chest puffed up and his eyes inflamed, balling up his fists like he wanted to hit someone. But he couldn’t hit girls, so he just stuck his tongue out and went stomping back to his parents, where Blake just fed him false predictions that he was a natural, and gave the rare good advice of working harder. The grown-up benched sportsman forgot to include that an attitude adjustment was what Tripp needed to work on more.
“Come on, crackshot,” Alex ushered to Buddy. “See if you can beat that stupid-hard ring-toss game. That thing’s ruined my childhood, and I demand vengeance!” The collie hammed, raising his fist to the sky in goofy-rage, getting Rudy and Buddy to laugh at him. Buddy then halted and lightly clutched her stomach when it gurgled, feeling something rumble the churn her gastric juices and reached up to the uvula in her throat. “You okay?” Alex asked, noticing her brief stop.
“Y-yeah, just burped in my mouth,” the kitten fibbed. Rudy saw through it and gestured with his head to tell Alex that she lied about those “corn nuggets” earlier. “I’m okay,” the hard-headed Buddy assured.
Alex looked at her, and suspected that she was indeed hiding something. But he trusted that Buddy listened to her mother and didn’t do something she shouldn’t have, and moved the kids back along the path.
Category Story / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 90 x 120px
File Size 27 kB
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