Three Minutes in the Kitchen

Normanday #62: I distinctly remember the scrambled eggs stuck to the plate.

 

Write for three minutes about…

 

…a memory of something that happened in the kitchen.

 

Email what you wrote to woof at bright dot net by the end of the day February 10 (put “Norman Beat the Hare in a Sack Race” in the subject line). I’ll post as many of my favorite entries as I want next Monday. Include your first name (or, even better, use a pen name) and age (unless you’re tortoise-old). If you’re a published children’s or young adult writer, include a biography to be posted with your entry.

 

Here is the single entry from last week when I asked you to write for three minutes…

 

…a birthday party.

 

 

Ralph

Balloons. Red, yellow, and orange. Full almost to popping and hanging by white ribbons from the backs of folding chairs. Every kid in the neighbor was at my birthday party, even the ones I didn’t like. We played games. There was a relay race where we had to run to a chair at the end of the driveway, grab a balloon, and sit on it until it popped. I couldn’t make mine pop. It just made that terrible rubbery screech sound that balloons make. There was a piñata hanging from the tree in the back yard—a donkey with twine strung around its neck. It was covered in green tissue paper. We swung at it with a yard stick, but it didn’t crack open until my brother got it down and whacked it with a hammer. Then came the vanilla sheet cake. Cakes should be round. And chocolate. Instead of one candle for each year, there was a single candle in the shape of the number seven. I doubted a wish made on it would even count. I burned with shame when my grandpa said there were too many presents, even though it hadn’t been my idea to invite so many kids. I sat alone in the yard as they all rode away together on bikes and strolled away in groups, laughing.