Chapter 9: Gramma's License

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He work in the garden

He humming

Bill: ♫ Oh, you plant your seeds down in the dirt, ♫

Bill: ♫ You bury 'em deep so they don't get hurt. ♫

Bill: ♫ You wait a few months, they turn into plants, ♫

Bill: ♫ And that's when you do the little plants dance! ♫

Bill: Ha!

Bill: Hey, that wasn't that bad.

He is suddenly greeted by the arrival of Cricket and Baraka and Tilly

Cricket: Dad!

Tilly: Papa!

Baraka: Bill!

He shocked

Bill: Aah!

Cricket: You're never gonna believe this! There's a place across town that sells this super fancy ice cream called "frozen yogurt"!

While saying this, he takes out an advertisement for a place called Burt's Ghurt!

Tilly: They got a sauce that's just birthday cake they put in the blender!

Baraka: And super fancy ice cream have over 200 toppings on the top!

Cricket: Can we go, Dad? Please? Please? Pretty please? C'mon! Please, please, please?

Tilly: Please? Please? Please? Please, please, please, please, please?

Bill: Aww, sorry, kids. I've got a lotta plantin' to do before sundown. But y'know...if we all pitched in and worked together, we could --

Baraka: Nah, We'll just ask Gramma to drive us.

He looks over at her lounging

Bill: Ooh...I don't know about that. I haven't seen her drive in a while, so it might not be the best idea to --

Gramma: HEY!

She throws a book in his face

Bill: Oof.

Gramma: I heard that! Come on, kids, let Gramma take you for a spin.

Cricket, Baraka, Tilly: Yay!

They follows her away

Bill:: Hey wait! Fine! Enjoy your yogurt! I'm gonna stay here and fill up on hard work!

He groans

She opens the garage door

Gramma: And...here we are!

Cricket: Uh, Gramma, what are we doin' in the old garage? Dad's truck is in the front yard.

She stands next to something under a tarp

Gramma: We're not taking that hunk o' junk! We're ridin'...

She pulls the tarp away to expose an antique car from Abraham Motors; she dusts off the license plate, it reads "HOTRDAL1CE"

Gramma: in style.

One of the mirrors breaks off

Baraka: Wow! Gramma, We didn't know you had a car!

Gramma: There's a lot you don't know about me, Baraka!

She goes over to a shelf with various racing trophies; she takes down her fingerless racing gloves

Gramma: I was a queen of the track! Hot Rod Alice, they called me.

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