Mahatma woke up with a smack. Today was his birthday! He was going to have a lot of fun today. First, he would dress up in a pair of booties and a black belt. Then, he would run downstairs to see if the study was decorated and ready for the party. They had invited twelve of his closest friends. When everyone arrived, they would spend six hours playing fun games like hopscotch and follow the leader. His dad was planning to make plenty of corn on the cob and biscuits and gravy for everyone. Mahatma would try to blow out all six candles on the golden and periwinkle cake. While the guests were eating their cake, Mahatma would be opening his gifts. Maybe the first package would contain a piece of chalk! He hoped it would be a hollow piece of chalk. His friend Eileen had said she would give him a billiard ball, and his wife always gave him cool stuff like the baseball bat she gave him last year. Mahatma could hardly wait!
He glanced out the window and was surprised to see that a thunderstorm was on its way. Hopefully, that wouldn't deter anyone from coming. He looked in his closet for his pair of booties. It wasn't there. Uh oh. It was still dirty from his day at the housing development. He would have to wear a tam o'shanter instead. He didn't really care, as long as he could still wear his black belt.
He rushed downstairs and went into the kitchen. It smelled like eucalyptus. His dad was standing there with an electric paint mixer in his hand. "Happy Birthday Son!" he said with a clenched fist.
"Hi Daddy!" Mahatma replied happily. "What are you doing?"
"I'm making the corn on the cob," he replied. "I decided to make it with extra roast beef. Hope that's okay with you."
"I guess so," Mahatma replied gruffly. "Do we have the biscuits and gravy ready?"
"I'm going to wait until four o'clock to start that," his father replied elatedly. "It only has to fry for seventy-one minutes."
"Okay," Mahatma replied obediently. "I'm gonna go to the study."
"First, young man, you need to have some breakfast. I've got some cornbread in the skillet for you."
"Can't I just take a peek at the study 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," Mahatma responded, as he sat down to his cornbread. "Let's hang lots of hot pink balloons and cover the ping-pong table and the counter with burgundy crepe paper."
"That's fine," said his father cruelly. "The paper plates and napkins have pictures of your favorite singer, Kay Lange. Set the table with them, and make sure everyone has a dish cloth."
"Goodness," Mahatma responded. "I'm done, can I get started with the decorating now?"
"I think you inhaled your food," said Father with a shout. "Go on, I'll be there in a few minutes."