Getting a popsicle is more complicated than it sounds. Bizarre one-shot.
Mainly because there was something on my mind.
Nothing huge or whatever.
I stood up again, the final time. "Robert Bryar, you stop playing around like that! Either sit or stand! But you can't do both!" This was the voice of my mother from long, long ago.
Rrr, rrr, went the tummy.
Hmm. Perhaps I'd eaten a bit too early? I'd been up since six that morning.
Sorry about that. My thoughts are all over the place.
Something sweet? I thought. Or something salty? Too much thinking.
I sat back down.
"How about a treat?" I said to no one in particular.
Just amuse myself, I responded, "Yeah, Bob. You should totally have a treat."
"Yeah, go for it, man." I added a third voice.
"A treat for Bob!" sang a fourth voice.
"Hey, you guys, it's getting crowded in here," piped a fifth voice.
We all got up and walked to the freezer. I opened it while everyone was arguing about who would open the freezer. I reached for my treat.
"Hey! That's my Popsicle!"
I sat back down. This time, by the window.