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Rated: E · Fiction · Comedy · #2187357
A tale of an attorney and pumpkins...
BEGIN your story or poem with the following line - it must be bolded:

Keep your expectations low and we should be fine.

Write in the COMEDY Genre (and choose it as one of your genres).

Keep your expectations low and we should be fine”...my wife, Beth, of less than three years said.

I’d not had a good day at work: I lost a client escorting him from the lobby to my office (how that happened, still, to this day, confuses me); I called what I thought was the coffee-shop around the corner to have them deliver a chocolate frappe to me – instead I found myself talking to my Mom; and, to top my horrible day off, here I was entering the Keystone Center for a pumpkin growing competition.

You see, Beth and I were classmates through middle- and high-school. We dated: miniature golf, hiking the trails up and down Goat Mountain, school dances and basketball and football games...we eventually became, what it was called back then, a “couple.”

Beth is/was a farm girl...she came from a large family: seven kids (five boys, two girls) that owned a farm with animals (cows, sheep, chickens, pigs, horses, and a donkey – don’t ask!) and FIELDS of crops.

I, on the other hand, grew up “in town.” I am/was an only child, so when I visited Beth at her home/farm I was overwhelmed by the turmoil of seven kids and multiple animals. At first, it was difficult to digest.

But, as time went on, and Beth I spent more and more time together, I realized I LOVED the chaos of squabbles, mooing, bleating, clucking, and neighing.

And the day always ended with a REALLY good meal made by her mother.

My mom fed us with, what were called, TV dinners: frozen bits of who-knows-what heated up in the oven meant to be eaten in front of the TV (it was a different time).

Beth, one day, said, “Let’s go to the pumpkin patch. Kenny planted a lot of pumpkin seeds...let’s see the progress, okay?”

Together we traversed the fields of strawberries, corn, timothy, and, some unattended fields that were basically weeds.

We arrived at the pumpkin patch. It was very GREEN – lots of leaves streaming willy-nilly, but I was able to detect “rows” between the intertwining tendrils.

I said, “Wow, Kenny must have worked really hard on this.”

“Not really...he was bored one day and used the seeds from last year’s Halloween Jack-o-Lanterns that he saved for some reason...he’s weird that way. Anyway, he spent half a day sticking the seeds into the plowed dirt. I asked him, later that day, what he’d done in the afternoon, and he said, ‘I just did stuff. I hope I win.”

I asked him, “Win what?”

Kenny replied, “You’ll see.”

So here we were entering Keystone Center for the pumpkin contest. As much as I love Beth, this was the last place I wanted to be that night...the next day I had to represent my client (the one I lost who re-appeared saying, “I lost track” - whatever that means) in court against charges levied on him by a retired man that he injured him, a Wal-mart Greeter; when my client entered the store, he disregarded the Greeter’s welcome, retrieved a shopping cart from the stacked-up line of carts, pulled it out of the queue, and accidentally bumped into the Wal-mart Greeter. The old Greeter was suing for “unspecified” medical injuries.

My thoughts of tomorrow evaporated when a bugle blared, and a person, in a pumpkin costume, appeared riding a horse onto the arena floor. Hoots and hollers greeted the horse-bound pumpkin.

Beth stood up and hooted, hollered, and clapped along with the other enthusiasts.

I looked down at my lap and thought, “WHAT am I doing here?”

The ceremony began...the big wide doors on the east side of the arena slid open and a tractor pulling a flatbed trailer with a large pumpkin upon it entered. More hoots and hollers. Then another tractor pulling an even larger pumpkin came through the doorway.

This continued six more times.

Okay, I get that pumpkins can be big; but, really? Do we have to see them being transported by tractors?

When the second-to-last tractor entered, Beth nearly hyperventilated with her enthusiasm...it was Kennys pumpkin – a plump, orangish-green speciment on the trailer.

It WAS big! Even I was impressed.

I stood up, clapped and hooted and hollered beside Beth.

I had become, in a matter of minutes, a pumpkin fan!

The last tractor entered the arena towing a pumpkin about the same size as Kenny’s and drove around the arena edge to applause.

The ceremony, dubbed, “The Biggest of All” proceeded. An industrial scale was towed into the center of the arena. Each pumpkin was placed on the scale and weighed; the result was broadcast on the big screen above the arena floor.

They started with the smallest, but still admirable, pumpkin. The weights kept increasing, much to the delight and delirium of the crowd.

It came time to weigh Kenny’s pumpkin.

His was recorded at 57 pounds and 4 ounces. The arena erupted in noise of approval. Beth and I clapped and jumped up and down while screaming approval!

Last was the pumpkin after Kenny’s.

A hush fell over the crowd. The pumpkin was placed on the scale...we all looked upward to the monitor.

It registered as 57 pounds and 5 ounces.

Kenny had lost by one ounce. Beth and I sank to our seats feeling disappointment. All around us, people stood up and cheered the biggest pumpkin.

After a few minutes, Beth leaned into me and said, ““Keep your expectations low and we should be fine”.

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