Little White Pumpkins
So Sparkle Girl and I were riding down Acadia Street when she announced from the back seat that she wanted some more of the miniature white pumpkins like the ones she had last fall.
Those were the best, she said.
Last year, we bought pumpkins at a church down the street. The people there had laid out hundreds of pumpkins in the grass by the playground. Off to one side was a cluster of little white pumpkins that were just the right size to fit in little palms. The people at the church hadn’t put out pumpkins this year, so going there again wasn’t an option.
We rode along a little more as I thought about where we might go.
“Oooh! Oooh!” I said. “I know!” (All those exclamation points are to let you know that I was speaking with great enthusiasm.)
Excited by the possibilities that my enthusiasm seemed to promise, Sparkle Girl leaned forward in her seat.
“What?!?!” she said.
“We can go see if that church on Reynolda Road has little white pumpkins.”
She sighed and leaned back into her car seat.
“For a minute there,” Sparkle Girl said, “I thought you were going to say something interesting.”
