Previous Challenge Entry (Level 4 – Masters)
Topic: TOURIST ATTRACTION(S) (natural or man-made) (08/06/15)
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TITLE: "Bubblegum Pizza, Anyone?" | Previous Challenge Entry
By Marlene Bonney
08/11/15 -
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Jeremy, not able to pronounce the first syllable of “Grammie” as a baby, had shortened my name to suit him and the quirky nickname stuck as fast as a permanent Bandaid for the following seven grandbabies. We were just happy no one had come up with “Pee-Pee” for Grampie!
I could tell Jeremy was waiting with anticipated glee to see my reaction to this, his favorite local tourist attraction. The rest of the family trailed behind us, most unaware of the treat in store for them.
Judging by the release of my arm and as the teenager vanished into what appeared to be a path between two tall stone walls, we had arrived. I cautiously stepped into the passageway and exclaimed at the colorful pebbles glued all over the inside walls dwarfing us.
“Oh, my stars, how beautiful!” reaching out to finger the unusual arrangement of multi-faceted gem-like stones.
Jeremy, trying to smother a giggle (that changed into a male adolescent’s cracking voice) as I removed my bi-focaled glasses to get a better look.
“It’s called ‘Bubblegum Alley’, Mimi!”
“Really! How did they come up with that title?”
Then, glancing at the little tyrant doubled over in laughter, reality hit.
“EWWW!” grabbing back my germ-infested hand like I had touched a hot iron, “Jeremy Paul! Do you mean to tell me I’ve been feeling CHEWED gum from who knows WHO?”
Quickly pulling a wet wipe from my fanny-pak, I scrubbed my hand and teetered out of the alley.
“What a revolting idea—WHO exactly comes up with this stuff?” I moaned.
“Aw, come on Mimi, you have to admit it’s a one-of-a-kind!”
“Silly boy!” I muttered as Jeremy’s chuckles reverberated off the walls while I scurried over to a nearby bench to catch my breath. . .
That’s when I decided to do Jeremy one better, and came up with an ingenious plot to gross him out. Back in the day, our church Youth Group went on a hayride outing at a local farm. After returning for hot cider and donuts, the hay wagon driver had also pre-planned a scary game for us. We were all blindfolded and arranged in a circle around a barbecue pit. He then told us a tale about his favorite cat, Spooky, who had gone missing, but a basket of her remains was found on his doorstep that morning. We were to identify the body parts as they were passed from one set of hands to another. Girls’ screams and expressions of disgust and guys’ bravado laughing rang out as intestines (limp, cooked spaghetti), eyes (olives with pimentos), broken bones (pretzels), congealed blood (formed gelatin), brains, heart, liver (from an uncooked chicken) and a tongue (boiled cow’s tongue) passed around the circle.
Impressed by the game’s success and struck by his own genius, Mr. Hanks opened this game up to the locals and it became a “must see” in the area.
I was gratified to discover that, although the original version of the game had become defunct, the Hanks family had replaced it with an animal ‘Hairball Museum’ in one of the pole barns on their property. It was touted to house the biggest hairball in the country. Through time, they had also collected human hair from local hair salons, barbershops, and pet groomers and created art pieces out of them, including jewelry, wreaths, slippers, and whatnot.
Inviting our whole troupe of grandchildren on an all-expense-paid vacation the following Autumn to this childhood haunt of mine was successful. I was as excited as a child on Christmas morning, anticipating Jeremy and the other grandchildren being so repulsed by the museum that they would be grossed out.
Contrary to my expectations, however, all I heard from them were words describing how impressed they were, like
“Awesome!” “Crazy!” “Complete dope!”
I, on the other hand, became mesmerized by a revolting pepperoni and cheese pizza displayed on a corner table, and suddenly realized that my plan had backfired.
I was not able to eat a slice of pizza for several months and the grandchildren continue to give me anything—from jewelry to clothing—that depicts pizza.
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