Sunday July 16th, 2017

The exercise:

Write about: the pinata.

Kat and I met for the first time 12 years ago today. Apparently.

Because I totally forgot about it until she reminded me at lunch today. Oops.

Work was generally uneventful again today. I think temperatures peaked in the high twenties today, which was a nice followup to yesterday's high thirties. More of the same tomorrow it looks like.


"I don't know about this."

"What's your problem now?"

"The pinata."

"Oh come on. I filled it up with healthy snacks, not just cheap candy and dollar store toys."

"It's not that."

"What then? Are you worried one of the kids will take somebody's eye out? I can find a stick that isn't quite so sharp."

"It's not that either."

"Right, spit it out then. I haven't got all day, you know. The party is starting in less than an hour."

"I just don't think the kids should be trying to crack open a stuffed figure of your ex-wife..."


Greg said...

I thought you were pretty good at remembering anniversaries like that? I'm sure you've mentioned this one on the blog before! Still, at least one of you remembered :)
Haha, it's the little details in this that really make it hilarious, including the overly sharp stick for beating the pinata with, the care taken to fill it with healthy snacks, and finally what exactly the pinata is of! I really enjoyed reading this and can picture the protagonist and their pinata pretty much perfectly :)

The pinata
"Boss, we gotta pro-"
"Don't call me boss! Call me... call me... El Capitano."
The sailor scratched his ribs through the his sackcloth tunic while Chris tried to ignore the unwashed smell.
"Right bo-- el capitano. We gotta problemo though."
"What kind of problem." Chris sniffed. "Have you been rolling in dung?"
"Yes boss, it kills the bad humours."
"Not boss. El Capitano." Chris tried to avoid grinding his teeth; they were sore enough that he was having to chew cloves again.
"Right Cappy. Problemo. We gotta."
"Yes, you said-a. What kind of problem?"
"The sign-writer got a bit drunk last night."
"What else is new?" Chris sighed. "Everyone's bloody drunk, all the bloody time. It's a wonder we can leave dock without hitting six other ships out there. The only time I see any of you sober is three days out under a fair wind."
"We're not always blotto, Cappo."
"No, there's the women of course. So if you're not drunk or in the arms of some raddled whore you're at the pox doctor. God preserve you all. Preferably in rum. Were you rolling in fresh dung?"
"The poxter's a woman here Cappy. Cappo. S'not right, a woman looking at a man's bit when they're drippin' an' all."
Chris face-palmed, four hundred years too early for it to turn into a meme. "What's the problemo with the signo writero?"
"He's gotta name of the boats wrong."
"SHIPS! They're bloody SHIPS you philistinic pirate!" Chris lost his calm completely and turned a deep, cardiac-arrest red and little flecks of foam speckled his lips.
"Righto, bosso."
The crack of Chris's hand across the sailor's face could be heard in the main room of the pub across the dock, and the sailor had to pick himself up off the floor. He swayed slightly.
"What's wrong with the names?"
"You wanted Santa Maria, Nina and Pinta, right?" The sailor's voice was still slurred but he was clearly making an effort. The skin under his eye was already puffing up and turning blue-black. "Only he's gone and put Santa Claus, Ninny and Pinata, Mr. Columbus, sir."
Chris shook the blood back into his hand and clenched it into a fist.
"Point me in his direction," he said darkly.

Marc said...

Greg - indeed, I usually am. Another indication that this four long days on, four busy days off is getting to me I suppose.


This is fantastic fun. And the slow reveal of who Chris actually is - it's handled marvelously. The dialogue here is top notch as well. Bravo!