The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is “adventure.”
I go down to breakfast to find my parents dressed as pirates. The smell of rum and grilled meat hangs heavy in the air.
“Little early for Halloween, isn’t it,” I say. “And I know it’s much to early for Miller Time.”
“Arrrgghhhhh,” dad says, raising a pewter mug to his lips.
“Hold yer tongue, laddy,” mother says, crossing her throat menacingly with a jewel-encrusted dagger. “Our you’ll be feeling yer mother’s wrath.”
I shrug and fill a bowl with cereal. Crowding the milk in the fridge are all sorts of provisions – dried beef, citrus fruits, a cask of lard. Near the back door are sacks of flour and sugar, as well as several barrels labeled rum.
“Arrrrgggghhhh,” dad says as his head makes a meaty thud as he passes out.
“We be fixin’ to put to sea, just as soon as thee breakfast dishes be done,” mother says. “The high seas be callin’ to us.”
“Well, isn’t that going to be a little tough?” I ask. “Considering we live Kansas?”
“Aye, we be takin’ the minivan.”
I look out the window to the drive and see that my mother’s Chrysler Caravan as been outfitted with a deck, sails and replacing the emblem on the hood is now a scantily-clad woman carved out of oak.
“Count me out,” I say. “Way out.”
“Ye have no sense of adventure,” mother says. “And to think, you be a work of me own loins.”