Part of Slice of Life by Two Writing Teachers March Slice a Day Challenge! I’m slicing every day this month. Thanks for stopping by. 🙂
After we had eaten more than our fair share of Speculoos spread for brunch, my son bought a very small leaf blower.
“Wouldn’t it be funny,” he joked with Mr. Thought, “if I offered to leaf blow the neighbors’ yards. They would be like ‘Let me pay you.’ I’d say, ‘No, no. I’m doing this as a community service.’ Then I’d pull this out.”
Outside he bent down to clear the sidewalks of Georgetown without a care in the world about people passing by.
We stopped to look in the windows of The Kitten Lounge, wishing we had an appointment and money to spare for such a thing.
“We can’t spend $75 for us all to go in and cuddle with kittens for 15 minutes, even if it goes to a good cause.” We told the kids.
“Well, daddy doesn’t need to go in, and I don’t need to go in. I have my leaf blower.” H said — and he leaned down to do a little more sidewalk cleaning.
Disappointing the kids (and me to be honest), we left the kitten lounge window, with dreams of opening our own one day.
“Maybe when I retire,” I said. “It can be my new retirement dream.”
“So, when I’m already out of the house? Gone? Can we do more than dream ever?” My teenager said. (Or something like that, I don’t know her exact words as she was busy walking away from me. Mad, since I wasn’t ready to immediately open a Kitten Lounge.)
Luckily, there was a Lush down the street, and that cheered everyone up. I didn’t know the boys would enjoy that store so much, but they did — each picking out something for their hair, and watching a demonstration of an amazing rainbow bath bomb. I’m glad nobody noticed that we spent the money we didn’t have for the Kitten Lounge buying hair products, face wash and a body wash bar…
Back at the hotel, we asked for our bags and our car, and fought a little about where the mini leaf blower should be while we waited. L was embarrassed that H still had the leaf blower in his hands. She was worried people would think it was a weapon, and didn’t even want him to put it in his pocket. Since it just looked like a leaf blower, but very small, I wasn’t so worried.
My youngest came out of the fancy hotel bathroom and said, “I didn’t know where to put the towel, so I just rolled it back up.” I didn’t understand what he was talking about until I went in the bathroom.
(Don’t worry, I put his in the little used towel basket.)
Then we got out of the city, and got to listen to the sound of the mini leaf blower while we drove home in the packed Prius.
“I’m saying something very important!” H told us, with the leaf blower pointed into his mouth.
And then, turning it off he said, “My mouth is very, very dry.”