The Goose is on the Loose

Ahh... story time can be an absolute pain when it's a daily chore...

I'm not exactly sure how I was tricked into becoming a stay-at-home dad, but I kinda enjoy it now. I recommend it to like-minded fathers who can handle 'Finding Nemo' twice a week or running the vacuum or can tolerate dirty diapers. The vomit, however, is where I draw the line. That's where Obi, our Corgi comes in. He likes it and its one less meal I have to feed him. The logic practically wrote itself.

It's even better when the wife is out jet-setting for days. I get the place to myself and only have to deal with maintaining a semblance of normalcy with our three, stupid kids. I'm sure they'll grow up to be Einsteins and do something great with their lives, but right now, they can't even tie their own damn shoes...

Sleep is the perfect solution for giving their mouths a rest from all the inept questions and the bickering and the constant jamming of twinkies, gummy bears and Cheezits down their gullets. All things I forgot to add to my 'Insta-Cart' order for tomorrow. Dammit!

Finally, it's time for them to go to bed.

But not until I suffer through a quick story...

***

"Alright, Daniel. Did you get those boogers out your nose like daddy asked you?"

"Yep!"

"And you, Tricia. Did you put your mother's lipstick and stilettos back where they belong?"

"Yep!"

"Alvin! Did you... never mind. I keep forgetting you can't even talk yet. Anyway, take your places, it's time for a story so daddy can finish his drink and watch an episode of 'The Broke Housewives of Detroit'

The kids waste no time jumping in bed in anticipation of whatever compelling narrative comes their way. Except Alvin. He still needs help vaulting into the crib.

***

"Today's story is about a beautiful princess who took too many sleeping pills and passed out for a hundred years. She is finally..."

-Wait a minute, folks! I know it's a fairy tale and all, but wouldn't she be old as fuck at this point? I hope she's at least sleeping in a casket; it'll save everyone the trouble...

"It's called Sleeping Beaut-"

Before I can finish the title, I look up at the kids, and they're already asleep. Perfect! I can move on with my life.

I grab my Mojito and the handful of children's books to lock them away from destructive fingers.

Tiptoeing my way out the door, I step on a small firetruck that transfers enough momentum to roll my leg into a gymnastic split. I hop away on my left foot just in time before tearing ligaments or my pants at the crotch. With balance already out of control, I panic at the sight of Obi laying in the way. I do a second hop over the dog and land with a bare foot on the hardwood floor right into a pile of mushy barf he never ate.

I can't recover this time. My foot slides upward, sending me airborne. I watch in complete, slow-motion horror as the drink that took five, annoying minutes to make, is now heading toward the ceiling along with the books.

Before the glass can peak and plummet, my eyes see something outlandish, instructing my mouth to gape in shock.

Bracing myself to land on my bony ass, a white, feathered wing comes out one of the books and snatches the drink from the air. I’m left wondering how a 3-dimensional glass is now apparently 2-dimensional inside the closed book that just landed on the floor.

Wincing back to my feet with a sore behind, I hear a loud, protracted belch coming from the book. It then starts to wobble and shake and stands upright! It opens, revealing golden light while releasing tiny down feathers into the air...

Wedging out is 3-foot goose wearing lingerie from the roaring 20s... In a Southern Belle’s voice, it speaks...

"You must be the kind servant who crafted that delightful beverage. If I may impose, can you pour another? And if you're quick about it, I may even let you get a gander under me skirt." It says with smiling, bloodshot eyes.

"What are you? Better question... What the hell are you doing in my house?"

"I am Mother Goose on the loose, looking for that potent juice!" Her tone abruptly changes, waving a switchblade. "Now where is it, laggard?... I'll find it myself!"

She recklessly takes flight, heading to the fridge where she swings the doors open with force. I quickly close the kid's bedroom door, watching leftovers and lettuce and all types of stuff being flung over the counters.

Rushing to catch items I plan to eat, she pauses when she finds a bottle of beer, cracks it open using the edge of the counter and chugs.

"Wretched... but potent, I say!"

She easily empties the bottle and another down her bottomless gut, putting my own prowess to shame.

Holding the knife up, she sees me trying to conceal the liquor cabinet with one of Alvin's blankets.

"Step away, Scallywag! This ain't my first heist!"

Taking flight again, I dive out of her path, wondering if I should call the police. All Obi can do to help is yawn.

Her eyes sparkle at the privilege of being within inches of towering shelves of aged bourbon.

Swiping three bottles, she heads back to the book and disappears inside.

The Mother Goose Anthology teeters back and forth, revealing other fairy tale voices celebrating at my expense.

I need to get rid of the book... and fast.

I remove my belt to tie it shut, then run it out to the neighbor's garbage can and seal it. I can still hear the raucous celebration even as I sprint away...

***

Needless to say, Mother Goose books are no longer allowed in the house. She is one rude lush. But kinda sexy for an old, cranky bird.