Not So Earyl One Mornign
By
K.K. Shalusi
Adam Cartwright usually was the first if not the second person up in the
Cartwright household. This morning, however, he definitely was running a
little late. The evening before he…ah…shall we say…had a very fulfilling
evening with Debbie, the new girl in town. He smiled remembering their good
night kiss. One of their mutual friends, Katja, had introduced them and
they hit it off right away. Debbie was extremely talented as a fan fiction
writer she shared some of her stories with him -- but she wasn’t much
of a speller. Of course, Adam wasn’t particularly interested in her spelling.
There was just something about her that…maybe the way she always worked
a moral lesson into her tales that…well… he had to finish shaving and get
down to breakfast now before breakfast was gone. He swiped his razor through
the water in the basin, dried it off and set it down on the table. He then
snatched his shirt off the bed and, buttoning it, hurried out of his room,
down the hall and down the stairs to where his father and brother Hoss were
eating.
Adam frowned as he looked at the big nearly empty platter that sat in the
middle of the table. It looked like toast and jam and one lonely slice of
ham was all he was going to get this morning. Sighing, he plunked himself
down in his usual chair and reached for the piece of meat with his fork
before it disappeared.
Before he could say “good morning” or complain about the lack of food, his
father chuckled and said, “Josehp wants to take a job as …sheriff …of Rubicon,
Adma.” He chuckled again and took a bite of his breakfast.
Adam gaped at Ben. What did he say? “Are you sure, Pa? I thought he already
did that last year.”
“No,” Ben shook his head and took another bite of food. “I would rememreb
that, nos.”
Hmmmmm, Adam thought eyeing his father suspiciously. He couldn’t be drinking
this early in the morning, could he? He cautiously asked his father this
question and his father replied, “Nothing yet except this coeeff,” he took
a big sip and set the cup on its saucer.
Before Adam could ask another question like what was in “this coeeff,” the
youngest member of the family strolled in from the kitchen and sat down
at the table opposite him and Hoss.
“A tib late, ain’t you, gib brother?” Little Joe or “Josehp” as their Pa
seemed to be calling him this morning, smirked at him.
Adam turned his attention immediately to Joe. What was happening here?
“Amad here thinks you were the sheriff for Rucibon last year, Josphe,” Ben
waved his fork at Adam and chuckled again.
“That’s crazy, Ap,” Joe giggled taking a bite of the toast. “That Debbie
gril has you all confused, Dama. What do you say, Ossh?”
Adam looked at his middle brother Hoss who was contently chewing on his
last bite of ham and then looked down at Hoss’s plate. What he saw caused
him to gasp. “Did you have any of those yet?” Adam motioned with his head
toward a glop of pale yellow that was heaped on the far side of the red
and white china.
“No, but I was about to…” Hoss had his fork ready to attack his plate.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Adam shook his head and picked up the plate
before Hoss’s eating utensil hit it.
“Come on, Adam,” Hoss snatched the plate back from his older brother and
shoved a huge forkful into mouth.
Adam held his breath and waited.
“That’s dadnurbed decilious,” Hoss smacked his lips and dug into the food
with gusto.
“I don’t suppose you both already ate some of this, too?” Adam looked at
Ben and Joe and pointed toward the yellow stuff on Hoss’s plate again.
“Sure did, gib brother,” Joe poured himself some coffee. “Why do you sak?”
Adam sighed deeply. Then he turned in his chair and yelled, “Hop Sing!!!”
“Is something wrong, Mistah Adam?” Hop Sing, wooden spoon in hand, appeared
from the kitchen.
Before Adam could respond, his father answered the question more or less
in English.
“It was a very godo brekafats, Sop Hing,” Ben smiled up at the Chinese cook.
Hop Sing stared at his employer quizzically. What language is this now?
“Mistah Ben okay?”
“Mishat Ebn is kayo, Ops Ghin,” Joe drawled smiling at Hop Sing. “Pass the
toats, pealse, Adma.”
Hop Sing was stunned. “Mis-tah Adam…?” he looked helplessly at the oldest
Cartwright son for a translation.
“Um,” Adam cleared his throat, “Hop Sing, why did you make these?” he grabbed
Hoss’s plate before he could eat any more…
“Hey!!!” Hoss protested. “Them’s mine…”
and handed it to the Chinese cook.
“Missy Robin sent these over. Said I could only fix them that way…”
“I should have known…”Adam scowled, thinking about the fan fiction writer
with the outrageous sense of humor who in many ways caused havoc in the
Cartwrights’ very ordered masculine world. “No doubt one of her little tricks…”
“I like Smis Ronib,” Joe grinned broadly at his oldest brother. “She’s really
nufny in a twisted orts of way. Really!!!!!!!!”
“Twisted sure is right,” Adam mumbled trying to think of how he could counteract
the effect of the scrambled eggs on his family. Suddenly it dawned on him.
“Quick, Hop Sing. Do we have any dessert left over from last night?”
The Chinese cook’s face lit up, knowing exactly what Adam was referring
to. “I go get,” he turned and left taking Hoss’s plate and remaining scrambled
eggs with him.
“I’d like more coeeff, Poh Sign!” Ben called after him.
Adam gave his father a worried look, wondering if his plan would work. It
just had to. He just couldn’t take much more of this.
“Here, you go,” Hop Sing set the remaining dessert, three plates and a knife
in front of Adam. Adam quickly divvied up what was left into three portions,
handed one plate each to his father and brothers, and told them not to say
another word until they finished it. It turned out to be magic.
“That was absolutely wonderful, Hop Sing,” Ben smiled wiping his mouth on
his napkin.
“Dadburned delicious,” Hoss said it right this time.
“How did you ever figure out that us eating dessert would fix us, big brother?”
Joe looked at him in amazement.
“Well, kid,” Adam smirked and adopted a superior attitude. “How else was
I going to get you back in ‘apple pie’ order?”
The moral of the story for the Cartwrights is two-fold. Be careful what
you eat and don’t trust every fan-fiction writer that writes about you even
yours truly.
TEH DEN
P.S. Sometimes I have trouble spelling/typing, too.