Bittyswap (part 24)
My version of Bittyswap involves full-sized bittybones (and other monsters) living in the Underground and getting miniature humans as pets.
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"Psst. Psst!"
Ugh. How can such a short arrangement of letters be such an effective weapon against sleep? I cracked open a single eye though the childlike tone of the hissed voice pointed an obvious finger at the sleep disturbing culprit. Cherry. The sight of two very large red eyelights did not surprise me in the least. With a groan, I opened my other eye. Alas, fair slumber, we part ways too soon.
That tiny motion caused Cherry's round face to light up like one of those explosions that melts your retinas. Gosh I love this sweet, adorable skeleton.
"Are you awake?" he whispered. I considered a sarcastic No, but Cherry's sensitive emotions happen to be the perfect deterrent against Vex snark.
I nodded, crawling onto his hand so that we could relocate our conversation to somewhere less bedroom-y. I may have been awake, but Cap sprawled out across Brassberry’s bed, blissfully unaware of the early morning shenanigans of the two smallest housemates. I envied him… until he rolled into a teeny tiny puddle of human!bitty drool. I snorted with laughter as Cherry carried me down to the kitchen.
Not so long ago, I would have worried about becoming a crispy fried human, but now I only questioned Cherry’s wisdom when he informed me that I would be his assistant chef. The precious angel wanted to make breakfast for his exhausted brothers, and I didn't have the heart to tell him that I am an abysmal cook. I mean, I don’t eat, and the Temmies didn’t exactly provide us with culinary tools or cooking lessons.
I hoped Cherry knew what he was doing.
I hoped wrong.
We encountered our first problem while reading the recipe. “It says two cups of flour,” I told Cherry, who gathered the ingredients. He set the container of flour on the counter and opened a cupboard. I waited next to the bowl where we planned to mix our perfect pancake batter. At that point, I still thought we could handle a simple recipe. Ah, hubris.
“All of the cups are different sizes,” Cherry reported from halfway inside the cupboard.
I considered this newest development. “As long as we use the same cup every time we measure, it should work,” I suggested with much more confidence than I truly felt. Cherry plunked a coffee mug down next to the flour before reading the next line of the recipe aloud with me.
We hit our second snag.
“What’s a teaspoon?” Cherry asked me. I shrugged.
“Maybe we should get the spoons out and look at them. Maybe they’re labeled.” They were not labeled.
“None of these look like a T.”
We definitely could not handle a simple recipe, but we did not let that fact stop us. Ah, hubris (again). Cherry selected a spoon, citing that it would “do,” though what it would do, we had no idea. Surely not measure the proper amount of something. Pushing forward, we began scooping ingredients into our bowl with enough gusto to make up for our lackluster ability to measure. I leaned over the edge of the bowl to assess our work… and tipped the whole thing over onto myself in a puff of white powder. Thankfully we were still working with dry ingredients.
Unintimidated by this setback (hubris the third), we reassembled the dry ingredients. I stayed a few steps away from the treacherous bowl at all times now, opting instead to roll eggs to Cherry who broke them into the dry ingredients with only a few tiny shells getting mixed in. I considered it a victory, which we needed because adding the milk was a clear defeat. The mixing bowl overflowed, spilling milk- which Cherry nearly did cry over- all over the counter.
I rush to reassure Cherry. “Remember all of those MTT specials we watched?” He nodded, eyelights wavering with unshed tears. “That rectangle guy made huge messes, and all of his food turned out ok, didn’t it?” I mean, most of the food ended up being bombs anyway, but at least that’s what he intended to make. Cherry nodded again. Time to complete the ol’ Inspirational Speech: “Let’s grab a bigger bowl, add a little extra milk to cover what spilled, and get these pancakes… cakin’?”
If I didn’t know any better, I’d think the pitter-patter of milk dripping from the edge of the counter onto the floor sounded like muted applause. Did I mention the hubris yet?
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