shellsween
06-27-2015, 09:17 AM
Hi, I'm delighted to happen upon this literature site. Below is a blog post with a 'first attempt' short story. Please peruse my blog. I look forward to reading and sharing on this site. Shelley
BALLOON BUST
My best friend, Karen and I burst out the front door. It was mid-morning on a gorgeous day in July, 1971. There isn't a prettier time in the Oregon suburbs than dead-center summer. Months of chilly temperatures and clouds makes everyone, not just kids, appreciate the warmth and sunshine when it arrives.
In spite of beautiful weather, it wasn’t long before the two of us, both 9-years-old, found ourselves enduring day after day of summer boredom. Until, that is, we happened upon supreme entertainment which sent us flying out the door that fateful afternoon.
Tara, a friend of my sisters was living with us at the time. She had been kicked out of her home because her father forbid her to date the young man she was in love with, but she did so any way. We welcomed Tara to live with us until she was able to mend fences with her own father and family. Ours was a forgiving home with an open door to those gone astray.
It was Tara who gave Karen and I the terrific idea that would put an end to burning boredom on that stunning, sunny, summer afternoon. Tara, 17-years-old, was preparing to soak up a suntan in peace and quiet and this likely inspired her to come up with something that would engage Karen and I for at least an hour or two. It’s not to say she was supervising us, no one was. Tara simply wanted to divert two pre-adolescents from pestering her while she bathed in the sunshine.
Tara held the golden tickets to excitement and she handed them to us: balloons – one green, one blue. At first, we were a bit disappointed and skeptical that they would provide as much fun as Tara had promised.
‘Fill them up with water from the hose and smash them as hard as you can on the driveway’ she said.
Not in so many words, but clearly all the same, she said 'and then buzz off, leave me alone.' We received the message loud and clear.
Out we ran, as fast as we could. Daily, insufferable boredom was beginning to fade away. We were bursting with enthusiasm at the mere thought of having something new and exciting to do. Rushing toward the garden hose, our pent up energy was put to good use as we giggled with joy.
Quickly, almost madly, we secured the end of my balloon onto the hose nozzle and filled it with as much water as it could possibly hold without exploding prematurely. It was huge, the size of a small watermelon. Wobbly and precarious, I stood motionless with it in my arms. The excitement this rubbery wonder was igniting in two nine-year-olds was near equivalent to watching Apollo 11 in 1969.
I carefully strode, as if carrying a newborn baby, with the water-filled fixation. After spying just the right spot on the concrete, I prepared it for launching. Carefully lifting it as high as I could, I brought it level with my forehead. Eyes wide, breath held tight and a quick glance over to Karen for the ‘o.k.’ sign, I pummeled it to the ground as hard as my 65 lbs. would allow.
The water surged from the balloon in a giant roar of waves. To our small eyes it matched tsunami proportions. Karen and I were nothing short of mesmerized. Our jaws dropped in amazement and we slowly turned toward each other in amazement. It took a few moments for us to process how quickly it had come and gone. Accepting it was over was simply out of the question. Going from misery to elation must surely carry on. At least until the day was over?
Luckily, we still had Karen’s green balloon to experience. In order to keep the thrill rising, we rushed back to the nozzle and began the game over again.
Once filled and a knot securely tied, the little rascal tried to wiggle right out of Karen’s grip. I panicked and threw my arms out to catch the heavy, sagging side that gravity was calling. Gently, we managed to re-secure it in her arms.
Karen held on to it as though it contained liquid gold or creamy, milk chocolate. In any event, as though it held the key to summer boredom for the next few minutes. I helped her walk with it back over to the driveway launching pad.
'If I let go, do you think you can lift it up?'' I asked.
'I think I can do it' She replied.
Her small arms rose cautiously and she managed to get the wobbly, green water balloon above her head. With all the power of a petite, nine-year-old, she hurled the monster balloon to the ground as hard as she could.
BAM!
It slammed to the ground and burst open with as much force and bang as the one before it.
YESSS! Our adrenaline was immeasurable. The exhilaration it produced was sky high. Alleviate boredom: Check!
The amount of time it took to produce that thrill was roughly ten minutes. Then, it was over. Just like that, finished.
It was about 1 p.m., which meant there were hours of daylight left and of course that meant hours filled with nothingness, like before the balloons. And this was just one day of many to come before summer was over and school began again.
We just couldn’t let the elation we experienced dwindle away and return to the doldrums of having zilch to do.
We looked at each other and instantly decided, as if reading each other’s minds, to head straight to the store for more balloons. However, there was one tiny obstacle in our way. We didn’t have any money. Tara didn’t have any either. Our parents were seemingly nowhere to be found and even if they were, the answer would likely be ‘no’ and we simply couldn’t accept this.
As if we’d lost our nine-year-old ability to reason, the bandit in both of us quietly emerged and we set out to keep our new found glee and cheerfulness charged.
The two of us raced for our bikes. We planted our left foots on the left-side pedals and swung our right legs over the top of the banana-boat-seat sting rays with athletic precision.
We were off!
Albertsons Fine Foods, our destination, was a tad further than a hop, skip and a jump. It was better than a mile away. There was a Minute Mart close by but they wouldn’t carry extra-large balloons and, if they did, it was an out-of-the-question option. We both knew too many people who frequented that store, including the owner. Our parents knew them also. Everyone in our neighborhood shopped at the Minute Mart for last minute pick-ups. No, it was not even close to being considered by either of us.
Karen and I didn’t have a penny in our pockets, but here we were on our way to snatch and grab balloons at Albertsons. It was all in the name of keeping the adrenaline and entertainment alive.
Out of breath, sweaty and every bit as determined, we arrived at Albertson’s Fine Foods in about 20 minutes time. Quickly, as if time was running out, we put the kick stands down on our bikes and ran for the front door. While browsing for balloons, we passed the candy isle which looked more than appealing. We were tired from the long bike ride and a little sugar seemed just the thing to keep the pace going. A decision was made, a tiny box of Chiclets gum would suit just fine. Something sweet to chew would be a welcome treat to distract us from the rapid pounding our hearts were beginning to do.
Karen grabbed one and I grabbed another. Not running and not quite walking either, our skinny, little legs strode frantically to the toy isle on the other side of the candy isle.
There they were, beautiful blue, green, yellow, purple and orange extra-large balloons stuffed into a plastic bag. Ten to a pack! We never imagined: ten tsunami-size hurls of joy! Once again, as though we were reading each other’s minds, we both grabbed one bag.
Our hearts were beating faster and faster and our heads kept swiftly shifting left and right. A couple times, we both did 360s for no apparent reason. At no time did either of us consider that inconspicuous behavior may yield better results. We were new to thievery, frantically nervous and assuming the faster we pulled everything off, the better.
Being green also caused us to hastily cram the plastic balloon bags and Chiclets into our pockets. From there we ran swiftly back down the aisle toward the candy section, where we had just come from. This was a foolish mistake and cost us time as the door was much closer to where we currently were. We back tracked approximately 150 feet.
Our legs were moving as fast as they possibly could. Down around the unnecessary detour and toward the front door we went, feverishly.
After dashing through the open door, we caught the welcome site of our bikes. Phew. Home free at last.
Or, so we thought.
‘Girrlllss’ a man said. His voice deep, authoritative and terrifying; far, far from a welcome gesture.
Simultaneously upon hearing this dreaded vowel-consonant arrangement (‘girrlllss’), an enormous hand was place on my left shoulder and Karen’s right shoulder.
Our stomachs, adrenaline and souls had the life sucked right out of them. Karen and I looked at each other in terror and disbelief. Neither of us uttered a sound.
The manager of Albertson’s Fine Foods moved his large hands from our shoulders to the center of our backs and guided us back in to the store.
‘Come with me girls.’ He said in a condescending, commanding tone.
As he guided us through the store, a cloud of humiliation, shame, stupidity and guilt enveloped our beings. The long, treacherous walk to the far left-corner of the store where the management office was seemed miles upon miles from the front door.
The two of us were left in the office which contained a two-sided glass window, alone, for what seemed like an eternity but in fact was about an hour. The manager was in another room, contacting our parents to inform them they were living with thieves.
Our adrenaline had sunk to the inner depths of hell. Fear and shame were all we felt. Green and blue bulging balloons couldn’t have turned the corners of our mouths north if they’d been chocolate covered and already full of water. We did something terribly wrong, regretted it remorsefully and only had the wrath of punishment to look forward to.
Our parents arrived separately to pick up their little criminals. We passed through the store and into our respective vehicles without saying good-bye to each other. I don’t recall my mother saying a word to me. It was sort of like a Charlie Brown scene where the mother is there but only garbles. Nothing really is received by Charlie. She’s an adult and he’s a little boy. They virtually exist on different planets.
The drive home made the time in the manager’s office seem like a walk in the park. I wanted to die.
‘Go to your room when we get home. Your father will speak with you later’ was the only thing my mother said.
Oh, why couldn’t Karen and I have stopped at two balloons and settled for skipping up and down the sidewalk to burn off pent up energy.
I sat and stared out my bedroom window, toward Karen’s house for two hours, until my father came home. I never saw her. She was probably waiting in her room, for her father to come home, too.
With each passing hour, I became more and more scared of what my punishment would be. Spanking? Whipping? Help your mother clean the house? Clean the house yourself? Never play with Karen again? All of these? Fear turned to utter paranoia. Running away was the only answer. But where would I go?
Ugh. I heard the car door shut around 6:00 p.m., then the front door, then the keys jangling and dropping to the countertop. It was a matter of minutes before my father would reach my bedroom and life, as I knew it, would end for me.
The doorknob turned and I tried with all my might not to make eye contact with him. No eye contact and I’d be fine. But there he was: shoes, jacket, slacks, ears, hair, hands, and walls around him – my eyes shot all over the place, like a micro laser beam, darting wilding in every direction.
Suddenly both his hands landed on my shoulders. He said, ‘Look at me.’
‘Your mother told me what you did. I’m very disappointed in you. Do you understand what you did was wrong?’ he asked.
My face was beat red with embarrassment and humiliation. I nodded yes and broke out in a river of tears, sobbing uncontrollably. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again, I promise’ I blubbered.
He removed his hands from my shoulders and left. The sentencing portion of my predicament was left up to mother and I’d hear about that the following day. For now, it was time for dinner.
Phew. It wasn’t as deadly as I’d scared myself into thinking it would be.
Dinner was excruciating though and trying to sleep that night even more painful. When judgment day (morning) arrived, I was exhausted from expecting the worst all night. I also worried endlessly about Karen. The events leading up to our criminal activity took place at my house. She may never be allowed over again. But it was definitely both of our idea to commit the crime. After all, it was each of our miserable boredom we were aiming to end.
As I lugged my little legs into the kitchen that dreadful morning, I saw my mother standing by my chair as if she’d been there for hours just waiting for my entrance. The Charlie Brown words were all I heard: garble, wont-wont, woooont. You don’t see the mother’s face in the cartoon, and I didn’t see my mother’s face that morning either. Even when I looked straight at it, it was a blank canvas. My brain willed any expression it had right off of it. A sort of miraculous self-defense mechanism reserved solely for guilty nine-year-olds.
The “wont-wonts” kept going. Until, suddenly, the jumbled articulation of ten words squeezed through my auditory system. “You c taa kk a r ding less nn wi karrn ths wee.’
It was dreadful. I was certain what I thought I heard her saying was correct and I was devastated. I retreated to my room without having breakfast. I didn’t deserve breakfast.
Karen and I wouldn’t be allowed to participate in our weekly equestrian lesson. That was our punishment - the precise translation of the ‘wont, wonts’. These lessons were the highlight of every week for us. The only fun we enjoyed during the entire, miserably boring summer. I would rather have been spanked.
As I sat on my bed, hungry, sad, ashamed, I managed to assess that it really could have been much worse. What we did was terrible, just awful. We deserved the whipping of a lifetime. My parents didn’t believe in spanking but I really thought they would change their mind after this one.
We were a family that took in teenagers down on their luck. We were forgiving and that was what I, too, received from them: forgiveness.
Karen and I endured the absence of our beloved riding lessons the following weekend. We weren’t separated though. We spent the day together and we spent a good part of it talking about how lucky we were.
'What if we hadn’t been caught?' Karen asked. 'We might have kept right on stealing and then what would have happened?'
Summer carried on with four weeks left before school began. It wasn’t long before the boredom returned; doldrums. On one particular, lackluster day, we reminisced about how much fun those green and blue balloons were. With precision mental telepathy, we said to each other how wonderful it would be to have a bag of ten. A bag with purple, blue, green, yellow and orange, extra-large balloons stuffed inside, just like the ones at Albertsons Fine Foods.
The End
Please visit: shellsween on blogger for a more entertaining version. Thank you!
BALLOON BUST
My best friend, Karen and I burst out the front door. It was mid-morning on a gorgeous day in July, 1971. There isn't a prettier time in the Oregon suburbs than dead-center summer. Months of chilly temperatures and clouds makes everyone, not just kids, appreciate the warmth and sunshine when it arrives.
In spite of beautiful weather, it wasn’t long before the two of us, both 9-years-old, found ourselves enduring day after day of summer boredom. Until, that is, we happened upon supreme entertainment which sent us flying out the door that fateful afternoon.
Tara, a friend of my sisters was living with us at the time. She had been kicked out of her home because her father forbid her to date the young man she was in love with, but she did so any way. We welcomed Tara to live with us until she was able to mend fences with her own father and family. Ours was a forgiving home with an open door to those gone astray.
It was Tara who gave Karen and I the terrific idea that would put an end to burning boredom on that stunning, sunny, summer afternoon. Tara, 17-years-old, was preparing to soak up a suntan in peace and quiet and this likely inspired her to come up with something that would engage Karen and I for at least an hour or two. It’s not to say she was supervising us, no one was. Tara simply wanted to divert two pre-adolescents from pestering her while she bathed in the sunshine.
Tara held the golden tickets to excitement and she handed them to us: balloons – one green, one blue. At first, we were a bit disappointed and skeptical that they would provide as much fun as Tara had promised.
‘Fill them up with water from the hose and smash them as hard as you can on the driveway’ she said.
Not in so many words, but clearly all the same, she said 'and then buzz off, leave me alone.' We received the message loud and clear.
Out we ran, as fast as we could. Daily, insufferable boredom was beginning to fade away. We were bursting with enthusiasm at the mere thought of having something new and exciting to do. Rushing toward the garden hose, our pent up energy was put to good use as we giggled with joy.
Quickly, almost madly, we secured the end of my balloon onto the hose nozzle and filled it with as much water as it could possibly hold without exploding prematurely. It was huge, the size of a small watermelon. Wobbly and precarious, I stood motionless with it in my arms. The excitement this rubbery wonder was igniting in two nine-year-olds was near equivalent to watching Apollo 11 in 1969.
I carefully strode, as if carrying a newborn baby, with the water-filled fixation. After spying just the right spot on the concrete, I prepared it for launching. Carefully lifting it as high as I could, I brought it level with my forehead. Eyes wide, breath held tight and a quick glance over to Karen for the ‘o.k.’ sign, I pummeled it to the ground as hard as my 65 lbs. would allow.
The water surged from the balloon in a giant roar of waves. To our small eyes it matched tsunami proportions. Karen and I were nothing short of mesmerized. Our jaws dropped in amazement and we slowly turned toward each other in amazement. It took a few moments for us to process how quickly it had come and gone. Accepting it was over was simply out of the question. Going from misery to elation must surely carry on. At least until the day was over?
Luckily, we still had Karen’s green balloon to experience. In order to keep the thrill rising, we rushed back to the nozzle and began the game over again.
Once filled and a knot securely tied, the little rascal tried to wiggle right out of Karen’s grip. I panicked and threw my arms out to catch the heavy, sagging side that gravity was calling. Gently, we managed to re-secure it in her arms.
Karen held on to it as though it contained liquid gold or creamy, milk chocolate. In any event, as though it held the key to summer boredom for the next few minutes. I helped her walk with it back over to the driveway launching pad.
'If I let go, do you think you can lift it up?'' I asked.
'I think I can do it' She replied.
Her small arms rose cautiously and she managed to get the wobbly, green water balloon above her head. With all the power of a petite, nine-year-old, she hurled the monster balloon to the ground as hard as she could.
BAM!
It slammed to the ground and burst open with as much force and bang as the one before it.
YESSS! Our adrenaline was immeasurable. The exhilaration it produced was sky high. Alleviate boredom: Check!
The amount of time it took to produce that thrill was roughly ten minutes. Then, it was over. Just like that, finished.
It was about 1 p.m., which meant there were hours of daylight left and of course that meant hours filled with nothingness, like before the balloons. And this was just one day of many to come before summer was over and school began again.
We just couldn’t let the elation we experienced dwindle away and return to the doldrums of having zilch to do.
We looked at each other and instantly decided, as if reading each other’s minds, to head straight to the store for more balloons. However, there was one tiny obstacle in our way. We didn’t have any money. Tara didn’t have any either. Our parents were seemingly nowhere to be found and even if they were, the answer would likely be ‘no’ and we simply couldn’t accept this.
As if we’d lost our nine-year-old ability to reason, the bandit in both of us quietly emerged and we set out to keep our new found glee and cheerfulness charged.
The two of us raced for our bikes. We planted our left foots on the left-side pedals and swung our right legs over the top of the banana-boat-seat sting rays with athletic precision.
We were off!
Albertsons Fine Foods, our destination, was a tad further than a hop, skip and a jump. It was better than a mile away. There was a Minute Mart close by but they wouldn’t carry extra-large balloons and, if they did, it was an out-of-the-question option. We both knew too many people who frequented that store, including the owner. Our parents knew them also. Everyone in our neighborhood shopped at the Minute Mart for last minute pick-ups. No, it was not even close to being considered by either of us.
Karen and I didn’t have a penny in our pockets, but here we were on our way to snatch and grab balloons at Albertsons. It was all in the name of keeping the adrenaline and entertainment alive.
Out of breath, sweaty and every bit as determined, we arrived at Albertson’s Fine Foods in about 20 minutes time. Quickly, as if time was running out, we put the kick stands down on our bikes and ran for the front door. While browsing for balloons, we passed the candy isle which looked more than appealing. We were tired from the long bike ride and a little sugar seemed just the thing to keep the pace going. A decision was made, a tiny box of Chiclets gum would suit just fine. Something sweet to chew would be a welcome treat to distract us from the rapid pounding our hearts were beginning to do.
Karen grabbed one and I grabbed another. Not running and not quite walking either, our skinny, little legs strode frantically to the toy isle on the other side of the candy isle.
There they were, beautiful blue, green, yellow, purple and orange extra-large balloons stuffed into a plastic bag. Ten to a pack! We never imagined: ten tsunami-size hurls of joy! Once again, as though we were reading each other’s minds, we both grabbed one bag.
Our hearts were beating faster and faster and our heads kept swiftly shifting left and right. A couple times, we both did 360s for no apparent reason. At no time did either of us consider that inconspicuous behavior may yield better results. We were new to thievery, frantically nervous and assuming the faster we pulled everything off, the better.
Being green also caused us to hastily cram the plastic balloon bags and Chiclets into our pockets. From there we ran swiftly back down the aisle toward the candy section, where we had just come from. This was a foolish mistake and cost us time as the door was much closer to where we currently were. We back tracked approximately 150 feet.
Our legs were moving as fast as they possibly could. Down around the unnecessary detour and toward the front door we went, feverishly.
After dashing through the open door, we caught the welcome site of our bikes. Phew. Home free at last.
Or, so we thought.
‘Girrlllss’ a man said. His voice deep, authoritative and terrifying; far, far from a welcome gesture.
Simultaneously upon hearing this dreaded vowel-consonant arrangement (‘girrlllss’), an enormous hand was place on my left shoulder and Karen’s right shoulder.
Our stomachs, adrenaline and souls had the life sucked right out of them. Karen and I looked at each other in terror and disbelief. Neither of us uttered a sound.
The manager of Albertson’s Fine Foods moved his large hands from our shoulders to the center of our backs and guided us back in to the store.
‘Come with me girls.’ He said in a condescending, commanding tone.
As he guided us through the store, a cloud of humiliation, shame, stupidity and guilt enveloped our beings. The long, treacherous walk to the far left-corner of the store where the management office was seemed miles upon miles from the front door.
The two of us were left in the office which contained a two-sided glass window, alone, for what seemed like an eternity but in fact was about an hour. The manager was in another room, contacting our parents to inform them they were living with thieves.
Our adrenaline had sunk to the inner depths of hell. Fear and shame were all we felt. Green and blue bulging balloons couldn’t have turned the corners of our mouths north if they’d been chocolate covered and already full of water. We did something terribly wrong, regretted it remorsefully and only had the wrath of punishment to look forward to.
Our parents arrived separately to pick up their little criminals. We passed through the store and into our respective vehicles without saying good-bye to each other. I don’t recall my mother saying a word to me. It was sort of like a Charlie Brown scene where the mother is there but only garbles. Nothing really is received by Charlie. She’s an adult and he’s a little boy. They virtually exist on different planets.
The drive home made the time in the manager’s office seem like a walk in the park. I wanted to die.
‘Go to your room when we get home. Your father will speak with you later’ was the only thing my mother said.
Oh, why couldn’t Karen and I have stopped at two balloons and settled for skipping up and down the sidewalk to burn off pent up energy.
I sat and stared out my bedroom window, toward Karen’s house for two hours, until my father came home. I never saw her. She was probably waiting in her room, for her father to come home, too.
With each passing hour, I became more and more scared of what my punishment would be. Spanking? Whipping? Help your mother clean the house? Clean the house yourself? Never play with Karen again? All of these? Fear turned to utter paranoia. Running away was the only answer. But where would I go?
Ugh. I heard the car door shut around 6:00 p.m., then the front door, then the keys jangling and dropping to the countertop. It was a matter of minutes before my father would reach my bedroom and life, as I knew it, would end for me.
The doorknob turned and I tried with all my might not to make eye contact with him. No eye contact and I’d be fine. But there he was: shoes, jacket, slacks, ears, hair, hands, and walls around him – my eyes shot all over the place, like a micro laser beam, darting wilding in every direction.
Suddenly both his hands landed on my shoulders. He said, ‘Look at me.’
‘Your mother told me what you did. I’m very disappointed in you. Do you understand what you did was wrong?’ he asked.
My face was beat red with embarrassment and humiliation. I nodded yes and broke out in a river of tears, sobbing uncontrollably. ‘I’m sorry. I’ll never do it again, I promise’ I blubbered.
He removed his hands from my shoulders and left. The sentencing portion of my predicament was left up to mother and I’d hear about that the following day. For now, it was time for dinner.
Phew. It wasn’t as deadly as I’d scared myself into thinking it would be.
Dinner was excruciating though and trying to sleep that night even more painful. When judgment day (morning) arrived, I was exhausted from expecting the worst all night. I also worried endlessly about Karen. The events leading up to our criminal activity took place at my house. She may never be allowed over again. But it was definitely both of our idea to commit the crime. After all, it was each of our miserable boredom we were aiming to end.
As I lugged my little legs into the kitchen that dreadful morning, I saw my mother standing by my chair as if she’d been there for hours just waiting for my entrance. The Charlie Brown words were all I heard: garble, wont-wont, woooont. You don’t see the mother’s face in the cartoon, and I didn’t see my mother’s face that morning either. Even when I looked straight at it, it was a blank canvas. My brain willed any expression it had right off of it. A sort of miraculous self-defense mechanism reserved solely for guilty nine-year-olds.
The “wont-wonts” kept going. Until, suddenly, the jumbled articulation of ten words squeezed through my auditory system. “You c taa kk a r ding less nn wi karrn ths wee.’
It was dreadful. I was certain what I thought I heard her saying was correct and I was devastated. I retreated to my room without having breakfast. I didn’t deserve breakfast.
Karen and I wouldn’t be allowed to participate in our weekly equestrian lesson. That was our punishment - the precise translation of the ‘wont, wonts’. These lessons were the highlight of every week for us. The only fun we enjoyed during the entire, miserably boring summer. I would rather have been spanked.
As I sat on my bed, hungry, sad, ashamed, I managed to assess that it really could have been much worse. What we did was terrible, just awful. We deserved the whipping of a lifetime. My parents didn’t believe in spanking but I really thought they would change their mind after this one.
We were a family that took in teenagers down on their luck. We were forgiving and that was what I, too, received from them: forgiveness.
Karen and I endured the absence of our beloved riding lessons the following weekend. We weren’t separated though. We spent the day together and we spent a good part of it talking about how lucky we were.
'What if we hadn’t been caught?' Karen asked. 'We might have kept right on stealing and then what would have happened?'
Summer carried on with four weeks left before school began. It wasn’t long before the boredom returned; doldrums. On one particular, lackluster day, we reminisced about how much fun those green and blue balloons were. With precision mental telepathy, we said to each other how wonderful it would be to have a bag of ten. A bag with purple, blue, green, yellow and orange, extra-large balloons stuffed inside, just like the ones at Albertsons Fine Foods.
The End
Please visit: shellsween on blogger for a more entertaining version. Thank you!