This was just a short story that I decided to write one afternoon when I felt like posting something new. I hope to make you laugh. If not... well, it wouldn't be the first time. R&R to let me know how your brain works! :))

I wiped the sweat from my brow as I slaved over my keyboarding homework that profited no more than to simply deny myself the extra thirty minutes I could use to do something… something… something… important! Yes, perhaps in those thirty minutes I was planning on studying more for the upcoming history test. Okay… maybe it’s not that important. But me, being the stubborn one I am, must disagree. Maybe that US History test will go down into my permanent records to be seen by all. Maybe in that ‘all’ someone famous like-like-like the president will see it! And once he sees the awesome grade plastered in crimson ink across the top, he will give a guttural grunt of satisfaction that his children of America are learning valuable history lessons that will profit in the near future. And of course, being the president, he wants to assist this future historian down her path to fame. So, as a favor, he calls me up to congratulate me on my fine grade and then wastes no time in offering me a position in the Supreme Court.

“Sorry!” I must say in all sincerity due, “But I’m too busy saving the rain forest and giving left over pizza crusts to the starving children in Africa.”

With a dissatisfied moan, he goes on to say how much my awesome grade moved him and inspired him to be a better man in all he aspires to do.

Feeling a wash of pity for him, I reply, “Well… maybe part time.”

So then I become a part time Supreme Court Justice while juggling Africa and the rain forest. And all the while I am becoming a symbolic figure to all of the peoples of the world… all because I had thirty more minutes to study for my history test.

I sighed and gratefully pushed the keyboard away. It was over with. After shoving my less-than-obliged wrinkled papers back into my neon red folder, I lifted my eyes to the computer screen before me.

“salda,” it read.

“Great,” I muttered while rolling my eyes, “I spelled my last word wrong.”

Leave it to me to make ‘salad’ look like a Mexican court dance.

Without bothering to correct it, I exited the Word Document and scribbled down the time I was on here. Thirty minutes… that unforgettable, accursed time.

After blowing my nose, thanks to my oncoming cold, I strode absentmindedly into the kitchen. My eyes slowly drifted towards the fridge. And just one memory of the vanilla icing inside that black door was all it took for me to forget that diet that I had issued. I had to move two left over bowls, and almost knocked one out completely before finally being able to reach back into the dark crevices of the refrigerator only to pull out a small, cylinder of pure vanilla heaven. I peeled the grudging lid from its container before heading for the silverware drawer. I picked a medium, silver spoon that reflected my face in the oddest form. Without really paying attention to it, I jammed the utensil into the icing until the amount was spilling off the actual spoon part to double in size. I rejoiced at my treasures before drawing my lips over the sweet treat.

And then, the strange thought and memory hit me at once.

Why did I like vanilla so much? I could still see back into a colder, fall day years and years ago when I had been handed a cup of vanilla pudding. Now, that was irregular for me because I, having sweet teeth, yes, teeth, because every tooth in my mouth is one, always had an unending craving for chocolate. But, as I stood there spooning it into my small, spacey-toothed mouth, I realized that I loved it. I will use this phrase again: leave it to me to stand in the middle of a broad driveway at four in the afternoon on a cold day eating those fun-size vanilla cups to realize that I could not live without them.

Yes, in case you were wondering, I remain to be a hopeless fanatic for that stuff.

I licked the spoon until every ounce of icing was gone and all I could taste was the cold in the metal spoon. I dropped it into the washer and then turned haphazardly towards the island in the middle of the kitchen.

With this memory still fresh on my mind, I headed for the fridge for more icing.