Word Play

Future Astronauts #Sidehustle

Carrying bolts of pink satin and stacks of silver sequins, Chris marched past Gramps.

"Better not be sewing that up for around here!" said Gramps, then reached over and grabbed a pillow (sewn by Chris) and chucked it at Chris's head.

Chris ducked. "No, sir." Rolls of sequins tumbled from his arms and rolled off in different directions. The pillow skimmed his head, hit his bedroom door, bounced back, and hit him in the face. "Excellent bank shot, sir."

Skylar closed the front door. Several pencils held her blonde hair up in a messy ball. "Hi, Gramps. I'm here to help."

"Somebody better help that boy! Black boys don't sew pillows!"

Skylar giggled, then said, "It's a brave new world!"

"Hmf!" said Gramps. He raised his newspaper.

Skylar grabbed rolls of sequins from the floor and entered Chris's room.

"Excellent," said Skylar, her eyes fixed on the newest Apollo 11 poster.

Chris lined up the rolls of satin and stacked the sequins. "Affirmative. Acquired it yesterday."

"I can't wait until we're astronauts," said Skylar, "I still can't believe we were both selected to attend space camp. Summer feels light years away. If all systems are go, we'll attend the rocket launch! And we will both be official teenagers!"

Chris smiled. "Lower it a few degrees. Presently, we have a mission to launch."

Skylar put a tape measure around her neck. "Roger that."

"Time fourteen hundred hours. Go for mission control," said Chris, from his desk.

Five minutes later, the doorbell rang. The first nine year old girl arrived.

"I don't know what you two are up to, but you better keep that door open!" yelled Gramps.

Every ten to fifteen minutes, one girl came and another left. Skylar measured each girl and reported the numbers. Chris entered them into the appropriate box on his computer chart.

"I'm going to disconnect that doorbell!" said Gramps.

"Last one, sir," said Chris, from the bedroom doorway.

When they were finished, Skylar left with the last girl.

"What in the world are you two up to?" asked Gramps.

"We're sewing costumes for Mrs. Sander's dance class, sir," said Chris.

"She paying you?"

"No, sir. We volunteered. Most of the parents can't afford to buy dance costumes."

Gramps chuckled and put away his newspaper. "Son, I sure am proud of you."

Author's notes: This story is an entry for the #sidehustle contest. It is inspired by the years I spent sewing costumes in exchange for my daughter's dance classes and the differences between today's youth and their elder generations.