disgust on the seat of the chair beside him. There, on the front page, was the blurry picture of Itchy. Somehow, his uncle had missed it altogether, no doubt in his hurry to read the business section. Boney moved his hand toward the paper and attempted to sneak away the page.
“Widgets are down 3.2 per cent,” his uncle blustered, causing Boney to retract his hand in alarm. “How’s a man supposed to make a living anymore?”
“Please, Robert,” his aunt scolded. “You’re going to give yourself indigestion. Now close your eyes, you two …”
Boney and his uncle peeked at each other in fear. At least when they knew what was coming they could prepare themselves for the shock. His uncle closed his eyes. Boney used the opportunity to sneak the newspaper page with Itchy’s photo and push it into his pocket before his aunt turned around from the stove. He shuthis eyes while his uncle sputtered incoherently through his moustache.
There was a flurry of pots clattering and the sound of the oven door opening and closing as plates were prepared. Boney could hear his aunt’s high heels clacking sharply back and forth across the linoleum, and then the kitchen fell suddenly quiet.
“Okay, open them!”
Boney and his uncle fluttered their eyes open. His aunt stood before them, wearing a sombrero and holding two plates of steaming burritos, the red pompoms on her hat bobbling merrily back and forth. “Olé!” she shouted.
“Wow …” Boney said. He looked at his uncle, who stared at his wife, unsure how to respond.
Still grinning, she placed the dishes on the table. Boney raised his fork and jabbed at the burrito, as though expecting it to jump off his plate.
“Is this melted cheese?” he asked.
His aunt patted the top of his head. “Only the best for my boys. Now dig in while it’s still hot.”
Boney and his uncle did what they were told, smiling with unexpected delight when they tasted the delicious beans. They dug in with gusto, knives and forks flashing until their plates were scraped clean. When they were finished, they sat back in their chairs,rubbing their bulging stomachs, their eyes glazed with satisfaction.
His uncle stifled a loud burp. “Mildred, you’ve outdone yourself.”
Boney’s aunt smiled as she clapped the yellow cookbook shut and placed it back in its position on the shelf next to the stove. Boney leaned toward his uncle and whispered, “We’ll have to get her another cookbook for her next birthday.”
Boney’s uncle winked. “I’ve got it all arranged.” He tapped on his belly.
Boney winked back. He asked to be excused, then brought his dishes to the sink before going upstairs to his bedroom. Once there, he took the newspaper page from his pocket, ripped it into confetti, and deposited it in the trash. Then he removed the towel that covered the Tele-tube and placed the tube to his lips. “Are you there, Squeak? Over.”
There was a rustle on the other end of the tube. “Squeak here.”
Boney opened his mouth to speak, but a giant burp erupted instead.
“Ahhh!” Squeak hollered. “Why do you do that to me? We need to find another mode of communication.”
“Sorry,” Boney apologized. “I guess I ate too much.”
“Another dinner disaster?”
Boney patted his stomach. “Actually, dinner was delicious. We had burritos with real melted cheese.” He burped again, but this time turned his head politely away from the mouth of the Tele-tube.
“Lucky,” Squeak said. “I’m thinking of giving my dad cooking lessons for his birthday, but I don’t want to insult him.”
“Yeah, that could be touchy. What was the surprise he had for you?”
“Bread. He made bread today as a surprise to celebrate the flying competition. At least, it was supposed to be bread. It turned out more like a giant white brick. He broke the breadknife trying to cut it. Then he resorted to the circular saw.”
Boney shuddered. “Oh boy.”
“Yeah. But then crumbs got stuck in the saw
“Widgets are down 3.2 per cent,” his uncle blustered, causing Boney to retract his hand in alarm. “How’s a man supposed to make a living anymore?”
“Please, Robert,” his aunt scolded. “You’re going to give yourself indigestion. Now close your eyes, you two …”
Boney and his uncle peeked at each other in fear. At least when they knew what was coming they could prepare themselves for the shock. His uncle closed his eyes. Boney used the opportunity to sneak the newspaper page with Itchy’s photo and push it into his pocket before his aunt turned around from the stove. He shuthis eyes while his uncle sputtered incoherently through his moustache.
There was a flurry of pots clattering and the sound of the oven door opening and closing as plates were prepared. Boney could hear his aunt’s high heels clacking sharply back and forth across the linoleum, and then the kitchen fell suddenly quiet.
“Okay, open them!”
Boney and his uncle fluttered their eyes open. His aunt stood before them, wearing a sombrero and holding two plates of steaming burritos, the red pompoms on her hat bobbling merrily back and forth. “Olé!” she shouted.
“Wow …” Boney said. He looked at his uncle, who stared at his wife, unsure how to respond.
Still grinning, she placed the dishes on the table. Boney raised his fork and jabbed at the burrito, as though expecting it to jump off his plate.
“Is this melted cheese?” he asked.
His aunt patted the top of his head. “Only the best for my boys. Now dig in while it’s still hot.”
Boney and his uncle did what they were told, smiling with unexpected delight when they tasted the delicious beans. They dug in with gusto, knives and forks flashing until their plates were scraped clean. When they were finished, they sat back in their chairs,rubbing their bulging stomachs, their eyes glazed with satisfaction.
His uncle stifled a loud burp. “Mildred, you’ve outdone yourself.”
Boney’s aunt smiled as she clapped the yellow cookbook shut and placed it back in its position on the shelf next to the stove. Boney leaned toward his uncle and whispered, “We’ll have to get her another cookbook for her next birthday.”
Boney’s uncle winked. “I’ve got it all arranged.” He tapped on his belly.
Boney winked back. He asked to be excused, then brought his dishes to the sink before going upstairs to his bedroom. Once there, he took the newspaper page from his pocket, ripped it into confetti, and deposited it in the trash. Then he removed the towel that covered the Tele-tube and placed the tube to his lips. “Are you there, Squeak? Over.”
There was a rustle on the other end of the tube. “Squeak here.”
Boney opened his mouth to speak, but a giant burp erupted instead.
“Ahhh!” Squeak hollered. “Why do you do that to me? We need to find another mode of communication.”
“Sorry,” Boney apologized. “I guess I ate too much.”
“Another dinner disaster?”
Boney patted his stomach. “Actually, dinner was delicious. We had burritos with real melted cheese.” He burped again, but this time turned his head politely away from the mouth of the Tele-tube.
“Lucky,” Squeak said. “I’m thinking of giving my dad cooking lessons for his birthday, but I don’t want to insult him.”
“Yeah, that could be touchy. What was the surprise he had for you?”
“Bread. He made bread today as a surprise to celebrate the flying competition. At least, it was supposed to be bread. It turned out more like a giant white brick. He broke the breadknife trying to cut it. Then he resorted to the circular saw.”
Boney shuddered. “Oh boy.”
“Yeah. But then crumbs got stuck in the saw
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