Storytime: Squashed Soup.

November 1st, 2017

I’m really very sorry about all of this. I don’t know how it got so far. I just was walking, you know, just walking
-just down the road, there, on Halloween eve –
and I saw some teenagers kick in a jack-o-lantern and run away. It’s much safer to do that nowadays, since a lot of them don’t have candles in them, but they’re teenagers, I bet they’d do it anyways, bet they’d do it if there were bonfires in there or welding torches.
But I thought to myself as they ran off laughing, ‘what a waste, what a waste.’
Then I caught myself and I considered it and realized…
…well. It’s ALL a waste, isn’t it?
And not just the candy and dental costs, but the poor gourds too. Some people save the seeds but I don’t know any myself, or hear of them. We cut them open and leave the husks and then we let them rot and then we throw them out. What a waste. What a waste.
But they don’t go mouldy for a good while after Halloween, do they?
So I thought about it. I got an idea, or maybe two. And the night AFTER Halloween, I went trick or treating.
No, no, no.
I went trick AND treating.
Much better.

So I came home with two garbage bags brimmed full, and I’d been choosey.
I had two little round ones.
A big fat blobby one.
Three medium ones, a little mottled.
Four tall, slim sorts.
And one with a very…. Well, not MEMORABLE smile, but a funny smile. It had a funny smile.
Yes, it was a very funny smile.

I put the water to boiling, and while it steamed I dipped a cloth in it and I started cleaning them off. They’d only been outside a few days, but hygiene and kitchenwork are like salt and paper, or fish and chits. It’s very important.
I cleaned out their eyes
And cleaned off their noses
I tidied their ears
And freshened their smiles.
Even the very funny smile.
When I was done they were bright and shining and the water was boiling. I opened the drawer and I took out the masher. I held it up high above my head and as I brought it down
-carefully! You can’t be careless in a kitchen!-
They jumped me.

It was easy to tie me up. Used my own apron, too! Hoist with my own petard.
They interrogated me after that. A bit of a rant crept through here and there. They were pretty cross about having their insides scooped out, I tell you what. Said they were all hollow and scrabbly now, and they needed to be full, rim to rim. Said they were scorched and parched from candles and needed to be soft and wet. Said that being mushed and mashed and souped was the final straw, and I should’ve known better.
I told them it was just a mistake, and all I’d intended, but they didn’t like that. Tied me with the other apron, and the other. Knew I shouldn’t have bought so many but they had so many charming slogans on them and I thought they were fun for barbecues. They’re torn into strips now and they’ve got me stuck fast hand and foot.
What a waste, what a waste.

I know I must sound awfully cheerful for someone in this kind of pickle, and most folks would be pretty ready to say some mean stuff about anyone who put them there. But all this kind of thing, well, it’s all down to me and my ideas, and I won’t let the buck go much farther than that. Don’t let this get around, but last year I had this idea about our Christmas lights and my when I was through it was just – oh!
I think I heard the door; I bet they’ll be back soon.
I wonder if they’ve found the knife?

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