Pippy Pee Wee Pipp's Grand Ole Game

Once I gave a chance to someone to perform, next thing that happened, domesticated bench sitting was my new full-time assignment.

Strengthening observation skills, the number one tool in the knowledgeable box turned into a priority and this vital component defining success transitioned a downward spiral into rising possibilities. Constantly watching life go by I, Pippy Pee Wee Pipp would fairly judge, comment and critique until another transition period evolved, changing the setting and pleasurable landscapes.

“Such a beautiful home run, last night,” outside on my porch, a voice exclaimed as I entered seeing the early morning daybreak filled with warmth and hope, start its clean blank page writing a brand new chapter, “the hard round thing cleared the white picket fence peacefully implanting its packed stitched contents making sure the object rested, surrounded by juicy fruits let go and dropped from tree branches.”

“Impressive, accurate description,” I replied, approaching the beautiful angel quietly overseeing world events. “It was truly a marvelous sight.”

“Oh, honey, why can’t we have an orchard filled with red apples,” she suggested, “then we would not have to go to the visitor’s garden.”

“I like playing there, I am able to display my best athletic ability,” I ensured.

A few weeks before getting replaced by an iron horse, a political insider wearing white sox flaunted a bank account and federal grant funding. While taking batting practice, Lady Louise approached me and next thing I knew we were sharing apps together before the big meal.

One thing led to another, and I went shopping for the biggest diamond that a prospector could find, boasting a confident attitude knowing the ballpark’s layout, worked in my favor housing dimensions encouraging, popping the question. Lady Louise, I selected as the special person, who I was going to invite into my permanent heart, and the moment she returned from purchasing home decorated plates, the offer would be discussed. Then, hopefully the luring lifetime guaranteed incentive binding contract presented will legally be signed, in emotional honest love.

“You have enough detergent to sweep those?” Seeing her carrying grocery bags, I asked, acknowledging social outings no longer were the norm anymore, instead private intimate conversation would be the dining recreational activity, “I will be crossing those shiny dishes, many times leaving a Marinara sauce trail, wanting buttered bread.”

“What makes you think they are for your cupboard?” Lady Louise inquired forcing me into a kneeling position, wondering if a replacement was lurking in the clubhouse.

After a wonderful season and party, we settled down in the suburbs and last night’s box score seemed unbelievable. Going at it, tagging each other, distancing ourselves from any perfect game defensive duels, somehow, we missed a few bases producing many runs.

“Remember, that road trip we took together?” Lady Louise recounted, during a pitcher catcher meeting at the mound.

“Yes,” my memory rekindled, “it was long, and I appreciated you by myside.”

“Well,” Lady Louise happily smiled, “someone else bought a ticket. And he is projected to be just like you.”

Embracing with a loving gesture I told my wife the truth, “I really appreciate the chance to make something so beautiful as you.”

“And you?” She pecked me, planting lipstick tattooing my cheek, soon our rookie prospect climbed the minor ranks, growing, waiting to be called up as a pencil scribbled line up addition, allowing me to say, “do not forget your leather glove and mitt, Little Louie,” opening the gates, green lighting our first Father-Son catch.”