It was a cold, dreary night. The wind was howling and a dense fog was setting in. In a cozy house tucked back in the woods, lights were glowing and people were stirring about. You could hear the chatter and rumbling going on in there. Something was amiss.
The dame of the house walks into the kitchen. It's that time again - the natives are hungry and getting restless. She's had to draw herself away from her happy place of sewing and creating. She thinks to herself, "Why do they have to eat so much? Will I ever have a day where I only enter this kitchen to fix myself another cup of coffee and go back to my happy place? It's a good thing I love 'em, ragamuffins."
Relenting to the necessity of feeding their hunger, she dons her self-made apron, gathers big white bowls, shiny silver forks & spoons, napkins, sparkling glasses. They're all set up on the counter and ready to go. The garlic bread is slapped together and thrown into the oven in no time flat.
Her bread-winner bursts into the house - arms laden with even more food that they'll eventually want prepared, served and cleaned up, at some point in the very near future.
"Hi, Honey. I'm home! I got everything you asked for."
"Oh, hi dear. Glad you're home. And, technically, I didn't really ask for this stuff. Not for me, at least. I just know that if it's not here everyone will want it and I'll end up having to go get it all myself, plus prepare it and feed people with it. So I'm saving myself half the battle by asking you to pick it up for me. But thanks, nonetheless."
"Ohhhh, I don't mind. Anything for my gal!"
(slap on the bottom)
"ummmm....thanks."
"So, what's for supper?"
"You, too, 'huh? Left-overs. Spaghetti. Take it or leave it."
She pulls down another bowl. Grabs more utensils. Another glass. Then sets to work finding the containers of noodles and sauce in the Fridgidaire. The sauce was easy enough to find. Right there in the front. White bowl with a blue lid. Tupperware, of course. The noodles? Where are the noodles? They were in another Tupperware container. Clear with a tan lid. She knew right we're she'd put them but...but....they're GONE!
DUN - DUN - DUNNNNNNN! (gasp)
Looking to the counter and not seeing them there, either, the dame starts to think she's losing it.
"Did I already get them out of the fridge? Where did I put them? What on earth?!"
That's where I come in. "JJ" Finder, Private Eye. Little does this broad know, I was expecting her tonight. My services haven't been needed much, as of late. But, as always, I'm johnny-on-the-spot. Always there, in the dark recesses of her mind. Just waiting for the right moment to come to her rescue. She can't survive without me and she knows it.
TO BE CONTINUED . . . . . . . . . .
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