Muerto woke up with a grimace. Today was his birthday! He was going to have a lot of fun today. First, he would dress up in a beanie and a business suit. Then, he would run downstairs to see if the guest room was decorated and ready for the party. They had invited eighteen of his closest friends. When everyone arrived, they would spend two hours playing fun games like solitaire and musical chairs. His dad was planning to make plenty of pot roast and brownies for everyone. Muerto would try to blow out all twenty-eight candles on the pea green and violet cake. While the guests were eating their cake, Muerto would be opening his gifts. Maybe the first package would contain a can of shaving cream! He hoped it would be a smooth can of shaving cream. His friend Greta had said she would give him a rope, and his girlfriend always gave him cool stuff like the bottle of perfume she gave him last year. Muerto could hardly wait!
He glanced out the window and was surprised to see that a pelting rainstorm was on its way. Hopefully, that wouldn't deter anyone from coming. He looked in his closet for his beanie. It wasn't there. Uh oh. It was still dirty from his day at the hayfield. He would have to wear a pair of shin guards instead. He didn't really care, as long as he could still wear his business suit.
He inched downstairs and went into the kitchen. It smelled like gingerbread. His dad was standing there with a fork in his hand. "Happy Birthday Son!" he said with a flutter.
"Hi Daddy!" Muerto replied joyously. "What are you doing?"
"I'm making the pot roast," he replied. "I decided to make it with extra sweetened condensed milk. Hope that's okay with you."
"I guess so," Muerto replied lamely. "Do we have the brownies ready?"
"I'm going to wait until eight o'clock to start that," his father replied woodenly. "It only has to scramble for eighty minutes."
"Okay," Muerto replied lazily. "I'm gonna go to the guest room."
"First, young man, you need to have some breakfast. I've got some moo goo gai pan in the skillet for you."
"Can't I just take a peek at the guest room first?" he begged.
"It looks just like it always does," his father replied. "Remember, I'm depending on you to help with the decorating."
"Oh yeah," Muerto responded, as he sat down to his moo goo gai pan. "Let's hang lots of striped balloons and cover the crib and the wooden crate with jade crepe paper."
"That's fine," said his father diligently. "The paper plates and napkins have pictures of your favorite singer, Sheila Duke. Set the table with them, and make sure everyone has a wooden spoon."
"So sure," Muerto responded. "I'm done, can I get started with the decorating now?"
"I think you inhaled your food," said Father with a wink. "Go on, I'll be there in a few minutes."