Jolted out of his sleep, Zachary punched the clock and missed the alarm button as the clock slid across the bedside table, crashing into the wall and painfully jamming his thumb at an awkward angle.
“Ouch,” and that was putting it mildly.
“Do you have to make such an awful din?” Grumbled Eleanna as she buried her head in the pillows.
“Time to get up sweetheart,” he prodded her unsympathetically, “Its all go, go, go.”
“Oh, shut up,” Eleanna snapped as Zachary, already up, moved swiftly from the bedroom, “I don’t know why all this hurry every time...”
Zachary flipped the switch in Luke’s bedroom and gently kicked his rump, “Up, lazy bones, and make us all a cup of coffee.”
“Nnn-nngh,” moaned the bulging quilt, “Go away.”
“We’ve got to get going before the traffic starts,” instructed Zachary, “So, come on.”
And so the family grumbled, snapped, and chewed each other all the way to the car, falling into the seats in an exhausted heap. Zachary fired the ignition and the car purred to life. They had only just reached the end of the driveway, when the engine died. Zachary’s repeated attempts failed to reignite the engine.
“Now what’s wrong,” Eleanna grouched.
Zachary scanned the panel, “Petrol. It’s empty.”
“I told you to fill it up last night,” Eleanna yelled, “But you were too lazy.”
The ensuing argument was followed by a stormy silence.
“Dad,” Luke hesitated from the back seat, “The lawn mower.”
Thank you! Luke always was the lateral thinker of the family.
“Come on, Luke,” They dove from the car and raced around behind the house to find the can of lawn mower fuel. Thank goodness it was four-stroke.
Finally, having procured fuel at the nearby automated gas station, they were on their way.
About half an hour into the journey Eleanna asked, “Who packed the suitcases in the trunk?”
An awkward silence ensued.
“I told Luke to,” Zachary explained.
“I thought dad had,” said Luke in unison.
More hollering and another argument ensued as Zachary swung the car around and they headed for home. Flinging the front door open Zachary went sprawling across the stationed suitcases and crashed his head into the bookcase standing in the passage way.
“Are you all right honey?” fretted Eleanna.
“Of course I am,” grouched Zachary sarcastically. “My brain’s leaking from my head, and my tibula is protruding from the skin past my knee cap. Whatever makes you think otherwise?”
Luke quietly, and sensibly stored the offending luggage in the car boot.
Finally we were on our way. Our holiday had begun.
...Can I go back to work?
[My son, the Danny Lama gives wise instruction, “Now you see... that’s why you don’t mow the lawn.”]
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