Thing 2 spit out the last of it, expelling the hazy liquid with a whooshing rush of haste back into the glass from which it came.
The boy then appeared to do his best to swallow his own face.
When this proved futile (but entertaining), he resorted to more tried and true methods. He yelled at one of us.
“YEEEEEEEEEECH! Mooooom! That’s DIS-GUSSSS-TING!” he said, franticly pawing his lips to alleviate the citrus sting.
“What? Too sour? I can add more sugar into it.”
Thing 2 didn’t answer because he was too busy attempting to yank his embittered tongue from out of his mouth.
“What happened?” I asked My Love. “Did you mix up a bad batch of lemonade?”
“No. I poured him a glass from the one that was in the refrigerator,” she replied.
“Um, dear … that wasn’t lemonade,” I said. “It was a pitcher of mojitos I made for us to celebrate the last weekend of summer.”
* * *
For more sad finishes, read my stab at a short story that concludes the latest round of writings on Polite Fictions.
Mine, “What Happens After Summers End,” is at least as depressing as an 8-year-old’s backwash in your cocktail.
And you, my friend, what did you accomplish/not accomplish this summer?
Video: Summer, I Pissed You Away by Michael Shelly