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Why I Am Late For English Class

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Autor:  anton  12 January 2011
Tags:  English
Words: 3092   |   Pages: 13
Views: 237

Why I am Late for English Class

Hastily, I dashed through the door of my English class trying to avoid the mandatory three deduction points for being late, however my watch displayed 6:05 pm. Out of breath, I tried to sneak into my chair as if I had not been late at all, then I heard Mr. Foster firmly ask, “Ms. Sanders, why could you not arrive on time today?” “If I can be here at 7:45 am, work ten hours, and manage to arrive here on time, so can you.” I responded to him by saying, “If you were doing what I have been doing for the past 12 hours, you would be late too!” He eagerly asked, “What was so important that took precedence over your English class this evening?” “You better believe, I have heard all the excuses in the world, nothing will surprise me…proceed.”

Well, it all started about 6:00 o’clock this morning. What I thought was my alarm clock rudely resurrecting me from what I describe, as the deepest and most relaxing sleep of my life, was actually the fire alarm in my apartment complex! I rushed to look outside my window to see what was going on. To my amazement, I saw the Pillsbury doughboy looking right at me with his big, round sapphire blue eyes. He was ivory in color and appeared to be squeezablely soft, like Charmin toilet paper. He wore a white satiny baker’s cap that displayed a blue Pillsbury emblem and fashioned a lily-white handkerchief around his neck. Let me remind you that I live on the fifth floor of a high-rise building downtown, so can image how enormously tall he was if he was able to see me through my bedroom window! Suddenly, he broke my window and demandingly said in a raspy voice, “YOU MUST COME WITH ME!”, “BETTY CROCKER NEEDS YOUR HELP; SHE HAS SENT ME TO SUMMON YOU FOR THE PURPOSE OF SAVING DUNCAN HINES AND GENERAL MILLS FROM THE EVIL MARTHA STEWART!” At this point, I was thinking; you have to be kidding! I turned to him and said, “Listen here, Mr. Puff-n-Stuff, I have to be at work in two hours and I must be at school for English class at 6:00 pm.” Doughboy then said, “YOU WILL BE BACK IN TIME FOR SCHOOL, BUT YOU WILL HAVE TO CALL IN SICK TO WORK TODAY, MRS. CROCKER HAS ONLY TEN HOURS TO SAVE DUNCAN HINES AND GENERAL MILLS, WE NEED TO HURRY!”

In disbelief of the current situation, I stumbled to my closet to find some clothes. I established that all I had in my closet to wear was a white chef suit and a blue apron! I thought to myself, have I died and went to Betty Crocker hell? After costuming myself in the fashion-clad outfit, I scurried down to the street to meet Mr. Pillsbury Doughboy. He steadily reached down his hand and scooped me up like a crane. He then placed me in his satiny pillow-like cap and heavily stomped to the edge of the busy town, dodging every path-obstructing skyscraper while avoiding every ant-like vehicle in his course, as if he was in some sort of mouse torturing maze.

We soon came to a stop and Mr. Doughboy safely placed me on the ground and said, “GOOD LUCK MISS. HEATHER; BETTY CROCKER IS COUNTING ON YOU.” He then reached into his handkerchief and pulled out this golden spatula, which was as bright as the blazing sun. I stood there in awe of this spatula, which nearly blinded me! He immediately said, “HERE, YOU WILL NEED THIS.” “USE IT WISELY!” He turned away and to my surprise, burst into pieces of chocolate cookie dough that showered the ground like fresh pelting rain on a spring day. I thought to myself, man this is the craziest thing I have ever seen! Subsequently, I looked around at the fairytale scenery before me.

Directly ahead was a deliciously manufactured two-story cottage that glorified a flower-laden countryside. Lain out in this majestic field, was a variety of iridescent bloom filled bouquets, perfectly placed as if God had sprayed vibrantly colorful confetti out over the land. The overwhelming scent of their massive petals filled the morning air with a sweet intoxicating aroma. The cottage was of sheer brilliance. The roof of the delectable cottage was shingled with gingerbread cookies. Its exterior was accurately bricked with fruit cakes mortared with marshmallow cream; each window was precisely shuttered with blueberry muffins, its door was made of red Twizzlers lined with M&M’s and black licorice, and the porch was paved with chocolate walnut-brownies. As I forced my glazing eyes to break away from the absolute amazement of the sugary compound, I glanced around the stunning environs and noticed a large empty bowl carved from a jumbo coconut with a note attached that read, “IF YOU ARE READING THIS, YOU HAVE JUST EXPERIENCED A SPONTANIOUS CHOCOLATE COOKIE DOUGH BLIZZARD. YOU MUST PICK UP AS MANY PIECES THIS BOWL CAN EMBRACE, THEN TAKE THE FILLED BOWL TO THE COTTAGE.” In small letters at the bottom of the note warned, “You have only five minutes from the time you pick up the bowl to finish this task. After your five minutes are up, the bowl will melt, destroying your dough pieces, so HURRY!” I dashed around the countryside gathering up the marvelous pieces of cookie dough. I looked down at my watch and noticed that I had only three minutes left to get the bowl to the cottage. Carrying my golden spatula and my anticipating melting bowl, I ran up to porch of the cottage. I impatiently knocked on the door and this oddly familiar young woman with curly fire engine red hair opened it. She wore a straw hat lined with a royal blue sash. She was clothed in a sky blue and white checkered dress, white laced trimmed socks and flaunted shiny black patented leather strapped shoes. Could it be her? I slowly looked up at the nametag displayed so gallantly on her chest. My affirmations were correct! It was Little Debbie! As she gracefully opened the door, she softly said, “You must be here to see Ms. Crocker.” I excitedly replied, “Yes, please tell me what I must do with this melting bowl of cookie dough?” By the look on her face, I must have asked the wrong thing, because she went from Miss Graceful to Miss Attitude in 0 to 60 seconds! She snapped her finger at me and darted back, “Girlfriend, do I look like Miss Betty Crocker to you?” She then twisted her little flaunty frame and attempted to walk back inside the cottage. At this point, my frustration was building. I grabbed her boney shoulder, swiftly turned her around, and calmly said through my teeth, “Well, to be honest with you honey, I do not know what Betty Crocker looks like, nor do I care, but if you don’t get Miss Betty Crocker down here right now, this bowl of cookie dough will be all over your pretty little head!” “You got it, sister?”

As I was finishing my sentence, Little Debbie changed her tune and said, “Ok, since you put it like that-come this way.” Just as we stepped into the cottage, this pleasantly plump little old woman stepped out of a cupboard from inside the kitchen. She appeared to be about 4 foot 5 inches in height, her minx colored hair was tightly wrapped in a bun, and unexpectedly she wore a dainty peach tinted chiffon jumpsuit layered with a lime green apron. As she looked at me with her flashy pearl-white smile, she greeted me by saying, “I am Miss Betty Crocker, please come in dear.” “Place the bowl in the fridge, we will need that later.”

I curiously gazed around the cottage and to my revelation, the air smelled of sweet buttery pound cake, the walls were made of vanilla frosted cupcakes, the floor was lacquered with hardened chocolate, and an array of colorful hard candy pieces adorned her windows like stained glass. Amazed by the interior of the cottage, I almost forgot about my melting coconut bowl! Pointing in the direction of a massively oversized white refrigerator, Ms. Crocker said, “Miss Thing, you better get that bowl in the fridge or we all are going to be baked!” I hurriedly placed the bowl into the Arctic Arena she called a fridge. Cutting to the chase, Ms. Crocker said to me, “Heather, it is up to you to save Duncan Hines and General Mills, they are in great danger.” “The evil Martha Stewart has them both held captive inside a glass lamp that she is threatening to sell to K-Mart!” “She demands that I give her all my secret recipes and in return she would free them both.” I gave Ms. Crocker a puzzled look and said, “Why did you choose me to complete this task?” She said, “That’s were the cookie dough comes in.” She goes on to ask, “Do you remember the time you baked 100 cookies for your son’s class in less than an hour about three years ago?” “Well, I need for you to bake 2,000 cookies for me in 45 minutes!” I know that you can do this, and with the help of the golden spatula you will be able to complete this task and help save Duncan Hines and General Mills from the evil Martha Stewart!” I curiously looked at her and asked, “What do 2,000 baked cookies have to do with the recipes she is demanding?” Ms. Crocker replied, “She’ll get the recipes, don’t you worry...”

Ms. Crocker then took me by the hand and led me to her scrumptiously decorated kitchen, which was the headquarters to her secret baking operation. The kitchen walls were bejeweled with portraits of every array of cake, candy, or dessert celebrated by man. The floorboards were made of enormous cinnamon sticks, and the ceilings were like ribbons of sea foam taffy. Drunken by the sight of this glorious baker’s delight, I noticed the incredibly huge stove in the middle of this sugar-induced complex.

As I prepared what I thought was an impossible task, Ms. Crocker had these infinitesimal diamond cut pieces of paper in a caramel-dipped basket. She looked at me with mere confidence and said in a delightful whisper, “Here my top 2,000 secret recipes.” “We must add one to each piece of dough and bake them inside the cookies, like chocolate chip fortune cookies.” She followed by saying, “I know that you look surprised, but you see, the evil Martha Stewart’s favorite cookie is a chocolate chip wonton.” “Once she gets her grubby little hands on these special cookies, she will immensely be pleased and free Duncan Hines and General Mills from their glass induced tomb!” “Not only will she eat all the mouthwatering cookies, but she will have all of my prized recipes, nothing will go wrong!”

As I started to prepare this magically delicious dough for baking, my golden spatula started to vibrate and began to grow hands and feet. Its shimmering glow illuminated room as if to say, “I am a baking goddess, hear me roar!” Then this remarkable golden spatula jumped out of my hands, flipped, and origamied the dough in a baker’s frenzy! My eyes grew in amazement as I witnessed this baker’s miracle. Never have I seen such a glorious sight. Within five short minutes, all 2,000 cookies were baking in the Miss. Crocker’s special oven. The oven echoed a jingling alert, and then the astounding spatula tapped the stove and out popped 2,000 perfectly baked chocolate chip wonton cookies. The smell of the cookies devoured the entire kitchen with an aroma of velvety chocolate and rich sugar. Finally, Ms. Crocker said, “We must get these cookies over to the evil Martha Stewart, please hurry.” Without skipping a beat, I packed the freshly baked cookies in a grapevine basket, and out the door I went in search of the evil Martha Stewart.

After getting halfway through the forest, I realized that I had no clue where the evil Martha Stewart lived. At that moment, Tony the Tiger leapt out from behind a tree, saying to me, “Hop on, I’ll take you to the evil Martha Stewart!” We darted around the tree-infested forest, carefully dodging every obstacle in his way. After the head-spinning capricious ride came to an end, we finally reached our destination, the cottage of the mean, ole evil Martha Stewart. This cottage was tackily clad in blue and green stripes, the ridiculously bright sunshine-yellow door had a pewter door handle, and there was a huge white sign on the door that read, “No Stock-Traders Allowed.” As Tony and I approached the door, to my surprise, an Oompa Loompa opened the door. He addressed us by singing, “Oompa Loompa doom-pa-Dee-do, I have a message from Martha to you, Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-Dee Dee, If you are wise, you'll listen to me. Oompa Loompa dippity-da best drop the basket or you won’t go Far.”, “What do you get when you manufacture sweets? “You make people fat and cause them to loose teeth…”, “Oompa Loompa dippity-di, better have the recipes or the cake man will die.” As soon as I dropped the basket of cookies, the Oompa Loompa ran over and grabbed the basket, and sang, “I do like the smell of it…” and quickly ran in the cottage and slammed the door.

I stood there in a moment of silence, because I did not think that Oompa Loompas really existed. Tony then looked at me and said, “That was GGGRRREAT!” I could not help but bust out laughing, because at this point I had terribly seen too much! Then, to our astonishment, the door slung open and the evil Martha Stewart walked toward us. With her golden straw hair perfectly groomed, she was decked out in a white and blue stripped tailored shirt, pink Capri pants and white sandals. A bright yellow sweater also adorned her shoulders. She gazed at me with a smirk and said, “These wonderful cookies smell superb darling!” “Did you bake them yourself?” She ended her inquiry by whispering, “By the way, you aren’t a stock trader are you?” looking around in a paranoid sort of way. I chuckled and replied, “Yes your heinous, I baked the cookies, and no I am not a stock-trader.” I finished by saying, “May I please ask where Mr. Hines and General Mills are?” She replied skeptically, “They are safely hid in my glass lamp and after I taste these delectable cookies, I will have my Ooompa Loompa fetch Duncan and the General for you.” “She then asked, “Where are my recipes?” I hasteningly answered her, “The recipes are in the cookies.” She looked at me in amazement and said, “How did you get the recipes in the cookies?” I told her, “They are like fortune cookies.” She was so impressed with Ms. Crocker’s idea, she replied, “This is the best idea I have ever heard of!” “I must trade this secret to China!”

She quickly placed one of the enchanted cookies in her mouth, and before I could say, “You have to take the recipe out first!” She started to choke and abruptly fell to the ground. Tony and I looked on in shock, I tried to help her but it was too late, the evil Martha Stewart had choked on Ms. Betty Crocker’s chocolate chip wonton cookie! At that moment, two Oompa Loompas came out the door. They both walked over to her and gently rolled her up in the doormat that coincidently said, “Well Butter my Butt and Call me a Biscuit, Look Who’s here!” As the Oompa Loompas were rolling her up in the hilariously appropriate doormat, they exited by singing, “Oompa Loompa doom-pa-Dee-do, I have a moral to this story for you, Oompa, Loompa, doom-pa-Dee Dee, if you are wise, you'll listen to me. “What do you get when you gobble down treats? “You choke on the thing and you wish you could breath”, “Oompa Loompa dippity-di, better chew your food or you surely will die.” “Oompa Loompa dippity-da, you can’t go to heaven with your mouth all ajar…” After the ironic arrangement, Tony and I rushed inside the cottage and retrieved the glass lamp that held Duncan Hines and General Mills captive. With Mr. Hines and General Mills in tow, we whisked off back to Betty Crocker’s house.

Upon our return, Miss. Crocker was so happy to see we had saved the day. We were all busy celebrating our avenging feat, high-fiving each other and displaying much accomplished joy, I almost lost track of time. At that same moment, Tony looked at his watch and said, “It is 5:45pm; you need to get to English class!” He quickly took me back to my apartment, leaping and sprinting over every tree and building in his path. As we arrived back to my apartment, Tony looked me in the eye and gave me a wink followed by a smile. He then turned and faded into the dusk of the evening. Basking in my pride, I jumped in my car and sped to the campus; and that Mr. Foster, is why I ended up here so late. Believe it or not…

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