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Little One
by Eric Miller

It landed on our front porch with a thud. I ran to the door to see what it was, but all I saw was a large box and the back of the UPS truck pulling away. The box and I wrestled with each other like two sumo wrestlers, and I declared myself the victor when I finally put the box down in the corner of the play room and freed the contents.

“What is it?,” my wife asked.

“I didn’t order it,” I replied. “So I sure do hope you know what it is.”

“I didn’t order it either.”

I picked up the thick instruction pamphlet and began to read the first page.

“Wake up, wake up,” my wife screamed as she shook me violently while I slept standing with the instructions in hand.

“What happened?,” I mumbled, confused and disoriented.

“You fell asleep, standing, before you even finished the first page of the instruction book.”

“Here, you read it and tell me what it says.”

“You are so pathetic,” she cried, as she took it from me with a look of disdain.

She began to scan the opening page, but her eyes glazed over and closed, accompanied by a whistling snore. “Wake up, wake up,” I cried, shaking her to and fro.

“What happened?, she mumbled, confused and disoriented.

“You fell asleep, standing, before your eyes reached the bottom of the first page,” I said with delight.

“What the devil are they talking about? This isn’t even written in English.”

“Au contraire, ma femme, but it looks like the King’s English to me,” I replied with glee.

“Oh, wow, it’s here!”

“I turned to see our eight year old grandson, whom we called “Little One.”

“What exactly is this that is ‘oh, wow, here’ Little One,” I asked.

“This is a ‘Super Voltage, Wango, Wizzmeree, Florelified, Mussgong,” he said.

“That’s right,” I said. “Do you know how it got here?”

“Of course, I ordered it,” Little One replied.

“How did you do that?”

“Duh! The same way you order stuff.”

“Oh, so you have the credit card that I reported missing.”


“Grandpa can’t figure out how to make the Mussgong work,” Grandma blurted out before I could speak.

“Here, let me show you Grandpa.”

“Oh thank you, Little One, you have saved my life.”

“Are you being sarcastic?,” Grandpa, he asked.

I looked at him. He looked at me. We both looked at Grandma.

“Do you know what sarcastic means?,” we both asked him in unison.

“Yeah, that you didn’t really mean what you said.”

We stood silently as he bent over and ran his fingers over the buttons, knobs, and switches. A motor started, lights blinked, bells rang, and whistles blew.

Little One looked up. “It works fine.”

“What?,” he asked, as Grandma and I stared in wonder.

“Good job,” I replied. “I couldn’t have done it any better.”

“Yeah, I know. Don’t you think it’s about time that you both start to call me “Big Guy?”