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A Repository for all things related to Andre's Banana Bar shenanigans |
Camping Trip - June 3rd Prompt Write about a campground in your area and how a visit there with Andre went haywire. The only campground near me, unless you count the few spaces near a motel in town, is the CowBelles campground near the fairgrounds. This is a nice area near the Musselshell River. Beautiful cottonwood trees provide shade, the river is nearby, quiet, but close to town. Andre asks if he can tag along on this camping trip. I've planned to have a quiet weekend getaway, just me. But I relent when he looks at me with those big brown eyes, sort of like my last dog, Bonnie, looked at me with her big brown eyes. I can't refuse when he begs. So off we go. I have a big enough tent for us both, two sleeping bags and some cooking gear. We'll cook a few meals over the old Coleman stove, have a campfire. Fun times ahead. Until... Andre spied some guys on bikes a few sites away. The bikers were gathered around their campfire nursing a few brewskis. So Andre lumbers over, even after I advised him not to. You never know about those Harley guys. Could be lawyers, could be serial killers. But off he went. I went searching for my adult beverage and found it missing. And of course, I thought of that rotten monkey. Who else would want to pillage my merlot and sparkling soda? So I marched over to the bikers and the monkey. "Hey! Hand it over Andre! I need that wine! It's been a really bad week. You had NO right to take that bottle. Give it back!" "Settle down, lady, have a seat. We were just having some fun with the monk here. We didn't see any wine. I don't think he has it," explained one of the men. He had on a do-rag, a denim jacket and biker boots. "Names Archie, and you are? I always like to know who I'm drinking around a fire with." "Harriet. The name is Harriet," I spit out. Harried, hot Harriet, mad at Andre, mad at these bikers, mad at the world. "I know he has that wine. You guys drank it." Andre jumped up, came to me, took off his fleece jacket, his hat, indicated he didn't have the wine. He started to bend over to show me his butt, "Okay, I get it. No wine on you. Then where is it?" Another biker spoke up."Harriet, could you, perchance, have forgotten to pack it in your vehicle?" This one poked the fire, then offered me a beer. "Here, have a beer. Sit down. Relax. Look at the fire. All is well. Enjoy a peaceful evening with friends and fauna. Be one with the universe." He leaned back with a satisfied smile. I think he'd been smoking something. Hmm. Fret or fun. I chose the beer. Later I did find the wine. Right where the biker said it was, in the house on the counter. Andre and I had a good time that night. I think. But I do remember something about a dance in the moonlight around the fire while Andre chanted some ancient monkey goddess ritual love rite. Or was it a song by the biker and his long-lost dog? W/C 537      |
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