Pineapple on Canvas: The Odd Adventures of a Toy in the City

The One Where Papple Learns a VIS (Very Important Skill)

Tock . . . tock . . . tock . . .

Papple was just about to reload his slingshot with another grape when the door swung open.

"Hey, little man. What's up?" asked Marlon with a big grin.

"No much. Maher go away a few days and Papple is bored," the little fruit replied, relieved that Marlon had answered the door without him needing to waste another precious grape.

"Well, come on in," Marlon said as he stepped aside to let Papple in, "I'm watching the football game if you wanted to join."

Papple nodded absentmindedly and shuffled his way to the couch, and plopped himself right in Marlon's spot by the bowl of popcorn.

Marlon, who was never caught wearing anything but a crisp suit or freshly pressed gym clothes, took a look at Papple's increasingly raggedy exterior.

"Hey little man, we got to clean you up a little. Your outside fluff is starting to get matted," teased Marlon. "We can't even see your little 'I heart Miami' sign anymore!"

Papple slowly turned, hand still mid-air and filled with popcorn. His eyes narrowed and he glared at Marlon, an expression Marlon had never seen from the normally cheerful toy. "Dis no say 'Miami'," Papple replied slowly, enunciating each word. "Dis say 'Maui'. Miami is very, very no good and Papple no like!"

"Whoa, why little dude? Miami is a lot of fun! How can you hate it?"

Papple scrunched up his face and looked down at his little round-ball feet. "Because they have South Beach diet and Ella make Papple try South Beach diet and me no like."

Marlon laughed. "Ok, Papple, I hear you. That does seem like a bit of cruel and unusual punishment, but Ella is one sweet kid and she was only doing it for your own good."

Papple gave Marlon a dubious look. "Me know this . . . but South Beach diet NO can have fruit! How can they do this to Papple?"

"Okay, okay. No more Miami talk," Marlon said, distracting Papple from his thoughts. "The order of the day is that we need to turn you from a raggedy pineapple into a fineapple, so the pink pineapples and those cute little red strawberries know what is up!"

"Ella say Papple is cute already," Papple said, blushing. "But me think only Ella think so--me no can be fineapple!"

Marlon leaned back and pretended to inspect the little toy with his eyes as he reached for a comb to brush out Papple's plush. "Nope, there is major fineapple potential over here," he said, and then more seriously he added, "plus this way no one will ever think that your little tat says 'I Heart Miami'."

That was just the inspiration Papple needed and he enthusiastically agreed to the brush job. When Marlon finished, he brought Papple to a mirror and showed him the final result. Papple looked up and grinned, "You is right, me is fineapple now!"

Marlon gave the little pineapple a slap on the back, which inadvertently sent poor Papple flying against the mirror. "I'm so sorry little guy!" Marlon exclaimed.

"Oh dis is okay," replied Papple, dusting himself off. "Well, actually, this is why me come over."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Papple is strong pineapple but me no know how to fight!" replied Papple. "Papple no like to fight, but just in case, me want to know how to if there is very bad people. Me know you is good at this. Maher, me not so sure."

Marlon laughed. "Maher is a pretty fit dude. I think he'd do okay in a fight, but I get what you're saying. He's a bit proper. You gotta learn how to fight scrappy and dirty. I'll teach you--plus it's the best exercise you'll ever get. May even be able to get you off that South Beach diet!"

And so, over the coming weeks, the little pineapple with the too short arms soon became a roly-poly fighting machine thanks to his friend Marlon.

Who would have thought that these lessons would actually come into very good and very important use down the road?