Fruit Punch

August 23, 2010
By MerebRussom SILVER, Springfield, Virginia
MerebRussom SILVER, Springfield, Virginia
9 articles 0 photos 0 comments

I was sweating mildly, I ran almost four laps before my withered lungs gave out on me, and my stomach gave a tiny little cry. The fact that I even took a step out onto the track was enough to convince me that my hard days work deserved some Popeyes. Greasy, fattening, crunchy Popeyes that glowed a special glow, and gave off a satisfying aroma. My brother seemed to agree with me as he turned into the restaurant without saying a word.

After getting our food, he checked to see if the order was right, while I poured what seemed like gallons of fruit punch into the most ridiculously sized cup I’d ever seen. McDonald’s Super Size was a Sippy cup compared to this creature. On the way home, I could only think of devouring the food that sat in my lap, as it gave off a scent that excitedly danced around my nose. “Grab the food,” my brother said as we finally arrived at the house. Thinking it would be less to carry, I just grabbed the enormous drink instead and trotted back to the house. I approached the dining room table to set down the drink and take off my jacket. After taking off several of my layers and washing my hands, I reached for my drink. Now, being the genius that I am, I grabbed the large cup from the plastic cover. In other words, the plastic cover that can be effortlessly removed by the human hand. So, without thinking I lifted the drink by the top, and within a split second the 87125810956291235 gallons of bright red fruit punch was on the floor. Perfect, I thought. Everything I’ve ever wanted in life.

You see, my luck did not permit the drink to spill on the 16 year old couch, as it would have been far too difficult to flip over the cushion. My luck did not did not permit the drink to spill on the thick tan dining table cloth, as it would have been impossible for me to swipe it off and throw it in the washing machine. My luck chose the expensive detailed rug beneath my feet. I didn’t even bother panicking yet. I just stood there and stared like an idiot. I looked over to my brother who was already half way up the stairs with his food. “You gotta figure somethin out before Mom gets home,” he shrugged. “Oh, thank you Captain Obvious, thank you,” I barked. I looked over at the clock, and that was when I began to panic. It was 6:10 leaving a mere 20 minutes before my mom got home. I rushed to the kitchen and got some supplies, an entire paper towel roll and a spoon. I threw a bunch of paper towels on the soaking rug, and 5 minutes later I had already used half the roll. I realized this was not working. So I grabbed a cup from the kitchen and frantically attempted to scoop up the fruit punch with the spoon. I realized that this too was not working, and that I looked like an idiot using a spoon to clean a spill. 10 minutes had gone by and all I had done was push the fruit punch deeper into the rug. Think. After using my brain for the first time that night, I called the one person who could help. I calmed myself down and said “Hi mom”.

We talked for a couple of seconds and I just casually threw in the question, “If something spills on a rug…what are you supposed to use?” Of course the first thing she asks is if I spilled something, and I calmly reply, “No.” My mom then tells me, in this “hypothetical” situation you would use Oxy Clean and some cloth towels. After hanging up, I immediately searched the house for some Oxy Clean, which of course wasn’t there. No surprise. So I improvised and got the next best thing. Water. I grabbed all the white towels we had in the house and prepared a container of water. With each soaking wet towel, I frantically rubbed down the stained rug in hopes of it going away. Ten towels later, the condition of the rug was mild. It was faint pink in certain areas but it was the best my Cinderella hands could do. Next I was to get rid of the evidence.

I got one of the many Giant plastic bags we had in our house, and stuffed all ten of the wet and stained towels in the bag. I then went into the laundry room, and jammed it in the midst of all our clutter. I looked over at the clock once again, 6:30. She won’t notice, I lied to myself. I then grabbed my food and went over to the family room to finally eat my dinner. And so there I sat, miserably eating my soggy, cold, spicy chicken with a slightly parched throat.

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