So, this is it.
The mere thought sends a chill down my spine. "Now or never, Molly. Get it over with!" My conscience speaks true words.
The people stare on in eager anticipation. There are hushed whispers all around me. "Will she? Won't she? Forget it, she doesn't have the guts."
I, however, am completely unaware of everybody present. There are slightly more pressing matters at hand.
The sky turns dark, right on cue. Time is running out.
I turn to face the Nefarious Mom-Lady. She gives me a cold glare as if to say, "Only one." I want to cry. It just isn't fair!
I take a deep breath. "Now or never, Molly. Now or never," my conscience eggs me on.
And so, with sweaty palms and shaky fingers, I reach out...
And grab the jar of Honey Roasted Chunky Peanut Butter. Almost as soon as I touch the jar, thunderous applause breaks out. I can hear people cheering, calling out my name. "Go Mollika! Woot!"
I turn to face the crowd, holding up the jar of P.B like a trophy, big grin on my face,
There's no one there. Just an old man pushing his shopping cart by.
"Enough drama, Molly. Let's go. It looks like it's going to start raining soon," Ma says.
"So this IS it," I think, depressed at the triviality of the situation. "Life does become more and more mundane as you grow older."
And then we make our way to the billing counter.
[Note: I was a nine-year old kid with delusions of grandeur when this happened. Don't judge.]
The mere thought sends a chill down my spine. "Now or never, Molly. Get it over with!" My conscience speaks true words.
The people stare on in eager anticipation. There are hushed whispers all around me. "Will she? Won't she? Forget it, she doesn't have the guts."
I, however, am completely unaware of everybody present. There are slightly more pressing matters at hand.
The sky turns dark, right on cue. Time is running out.
I turn to face the Nefarious Mom-Lady. She gives me a cold glare as if to say, "Only one." I want to cry. It just isn't fair!
I take a deep breath. "Now or never, Molly. Now or never," my conscience eggs me on.
And so, with sweaty palms and shaky fingers, I reach out...
And grab the jar of Honey Roasted Chunky Peanut Butter. Almost as soon as I touch the jar, thunderous applause breaks out. I can hear people cheering, calling out my name. "Go Mollika! Woot!"
I turn to face the crowd, holding up the jar of P.B like a trophy, big grin on my face,
There's no one there. Just an old man pushing his shopping cart by.
"Enough drama, Molly. Let's go. It looks like it's going to start raining soon," Ma says.
"So this IS it," I think, depressed at the triviality of the situation. "Life does become more and more mundane as you grow older."
And then we make our way to the billing counter.
[Note: I was a nine-year old kid with delusions of grandeur when this happened. Don't judge.]
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