Freshstew Withniceleanpork Tendercellery

HAPPY BIRTHDAY AUDRA!!! I TOTALLY forgot about this, so sorry for you not having it on your birthday :( I have a bit more written, which I'll be posting later. Sorry this wasn't all done on time. I WOULD be completely dedicating myself to it now, but then that Hunger Games contest came up (Which I am writing furiously RIGHT NOW)...so anyway...hope you enjoy :) HAPPY BIRTHDAY!

Oh, and this is like 3 chapters in one, but I wanted the chapter to be longer. HAPPY BIRTHDAY AGAIN!

 

Freshstew Withniceleanpork Tendercellery sits at her kitchen table sipping freshly squeezed orange juice.  She twirls the straw between her finger and thumb, mixing the pulp so it doesn’t all stay at the bottom.

                She listens idly to the television playing in the corner of the room.  Practically blind without her glasses, she can only hear the woman as she prattles on and on about how to make the perfect desert.  Words such as ‘paprika’ and ‘sprinkle’ fly through Freshstew’s ears, but she tries to ignore it.  Baking is one of the many things she’s tried in her life, and failed miserably at.

                “I’m home!” Freshstew’s father calls, slamming the door closed behind him.  He reeks of animal, just as he does every day.  If she’s being perfectly honest with herself, Freshstew hates the fact that her dad works with animals all day.  Although she appears interested in the doings of the animals, she’d much rather go on a killing spree through the zoo than a peaceful tour.

                “How was your day?” she says, but only because it’s necessary.  Her father blabs on about the animals, and Freshstew remains idly stirring her orange juice, until she hears the magic word—love.

                Freshstew has always been fascinated with the idea of love.  It’s not likely that she’ll ever find it, being an untalented butter face and all, but she keeps caught up in all the romance novels. She has mastered the art of kissing with her pillows, and listens avidly whenever her popular best friend, Eloise Periwinkle, talks about her adventures with boys.  It’s one of the many things Freshstew has always been jealous of.

                “She acts as if giraffes can fall in love,” Mr. Tendercellery rolls his eyes. “Like we’re soulless for matching them up with their best physical match.”

                “How are you so sure giraffes can’t fall in love?” Freshstew asks, pushing her stool aside and standing to face her father.  She crosses her arms in front of her chest and is happy when she’s ever so slightly taller than her father.  Thankfully, he’s close enough that she can see the expression on his face.  He looks bemused, like he usually does when he talks to his hair brain daughter.

                “Because they’re giraffes,” Mr. Tendercellery says simply, shrugging his broad shoulders. “They just can’t, Freshstew.  You’d be sooner to fall in love than one of those gigantic beasts,” he adds with a chuckle.

                Freshstew feels the tears pour down her ugly face before she can stop herself.  She hates how honest her dad can be.  Her other friend’s fathers are supportive—perhaps wishing the boys would never come—but never supporting the idea of their daughter never finding love.

                As Freshstew crumples into a sobbing ball on her bed, she makes a decision:

                She will find love, and so will a giraffe.  She will prove her father wrong, once and for all.