Smoothie Volcano

Forty-eight hours have passed since my last disaster here in California. My personality seems to attract it like a magnet. It is no surprise then that mischief finally caught me again and succeeded in spilling its troublesome personality into my lap…quite literally. The day began.

I slept. I rose. I ran, and as I climbed up to the top of the high California hills, the sun chased after me. Sun rays touched my face and tussled my hair. They embraced my chest and warmed my arms. Light reached my toes and dried my shoes all the while I crested the hills and followed the path and powered down the track. By the time the sunlight had fully embraced me, I sought to retreat from its affectionate ways for its kisses were too passionate on my pale body. I turned back home retracing my steps, and as I went, the hot spots from my feet boiled up into my face, and I soon longed for something cool.

Similar to the beginnings of the last disaster, I pushed open the gate to my home here and sprawled on the bricks. Cold ground cradled me, and I crawled like a baby to the door for water. Erecting myself, I thought about breakfast foods and a wonderful meal idea brought a delicious smile to my lips.

Making my way to the freezer I found my heart’s desire. Big, bulby, bug-eyed berries stared at me, but I wasted no time staring back for I grabbed handfuls of frozen fruit and filled a blender with deliciousness. I felt sure all of it blended together would be my cure. I threw in spinach, mango, yogurt, and whatever else I could get my hands on.

By the time I felt that it was going to be satisfactory, its contents were spilling over the blender lip.

“Is there anything I should know about this blender?” I asked innocently.

My Aunt laughed, “No, but put the lid on.”

I pressed the magic button which would soon trigger the action which would serve me my much desired breakfast. It whirred and did nothing.

“It needs liquid.” We both agreed. I twisted the container to take it to the sink for water. I preferred tap water to milk.

“Why not use orange juice?” My Aunt suggested.

“Brillá!”

I left the half untwisted container and pulled the juice out of the fridge. After several trials I had mastered the machine, but as I added liquid the quantity expanded to more than I could eat. My perfect sized smoothie had grown immensely. How delicious it looked, thogh, its purply thick consistency the color of rich raspberries.

My Aunt, who had been eyeing me all this time, rose and finished preparing for her day at the hospital. I kept to my breakfast business and collected a cup from the cupboard. It was Mexican looking and tall, tall enough for two maybe three refills. “Now how to get this off,” I thought to myself. I twisted and pulled, still nothing. I tipped and turned. “How do you come off? I am hungry and hot!” I spoke to it.

Ah! Another twist. This must be it. I turned and turned and finally freeeeee! I lifted eagerly and stopped abruptly. Like purple lava, smoothie bubbled up from underneath the blender, over the sides of the machine, over the power buttons, and onto the counter. Ay no! My smoothie! I panicked. For several moments my brain froze, and I neither lifted higher, nor did I put it back. My logical reasoning failed me. I suppose I realized that what comes off should probably go back on and so in a desperate effort to save my food and my dignity, I plopped it back on to save what little smoothie I had left, sought for the hole to screw back in, and began frantically twisting. It locked once more.

Now to clean up before my Aunt came out. I heard her rustling in her bedroom. I grabbed the sponge, scooped with both hands and splat the contents into the sink. Returning to the kitchen catastrophe, I scooped again. Too slow. I pulled over the paper towel rack leaving purple evidence on the top. Too bad. Yanking loose a long string of paper towel, I encouraged it to absorb the lava lake. Out came the garbage. Down flew the rags. I heard more rustling in the bedroom and forced my hands to fly. I heard her steps. They were at the door. I replaced the bucket under the sink, grabbed the sponge and blocked the machine from her view in order to clean up the last few puddles of smoothie. There was still enough inside that she would not notice the difference in quantity. I clasped the handle and thought again about how I put it on. I tested my newly discovered logic. The order, in which something goes on, ought to be the way to take off. Pop. Off it came, and I marveled at the law I had just discovered. But wait, did not Newton say “for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.” Alright so I can’t patent it.  The door opened, and as I poured my breakfast, she asked, “Did you figure it out?”

“Why, yes, thank you very much for asking. Everything is quite perfect, and your timing is impeccable…” I turned my back and grinned wiping the remaining evidence off the lip of the smoothie machine. I had saved my breakfast and kept my dignity.

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