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@happyholly_c Sorry this took so long. And sorry that it is so long, but I had fun writing it.

 

Ow! Why does everyone have to step on my toes?

The little kid continued past me, seemingly unaware of the pain he had caused my foot. His little hand waved in the air with a too big foam finger on it as he ran up to a little girl a few years younger than himself. She was wearing a baseball jersey that nearly swallowed her and a light pink kid’s catching mitt with purple flowers on it.

My initial frustration at being stepped on disappeared when I saw their bright faces with grins that went from ear to ear. The little boy started jumping up and down, the finger waving in his excitement. His sister, or at least the person I assumed was his sister, giggled and started up a cheer.

With a sigh I turned towards the hot dog stand. It’s a good thing the game doesn’t start for another thirty minutes. The line looked like it would take that long before I got to the window. While waiting I glanced around at the ads lining the walls. There were the usual athletic gear ads and fast-food ads, a few local stores had some ads on there too. None of the ads were entertaining enough, though, to keep my mind off the long line still ahead of me.

Finally, I had my hotdog and was heading to my seat.

I need to exercise more.

My legs felt like spaghetti as I climbed higher and higher to my nose bleed seat. One foot, then another foot, then the other foot. My right foot slid out from beneath me and I grasped the back of the closest chair out of reflex. Looking down I saw that I had slipped on a crumbled candy wrapper. I rolled my eyes as far back as they could go then continued my trek upwards. My breath came in hard pants before I reached my row and was able to plop myself in my aisle chair.

A small smile graced my face as I stared at the field in front of me. The field lights were already shining upon the green grass, brown pitcher’s mound, and white field plates. Yes, it was going to be a great game.

I unwrapped my hotdog from its foil casing and leaned forward to take a bite when I was interrupted by a voice announcing that it needed to be in my row. The voice belonged to a young man who was accompanied by the two children from earlier. My hot dog would have to wait. Wrapping my dinner back in its package, I stood to let the family by.

The father went first, then the little girl. Finally, it was the little boy’s turn. He still had the foam finger on his hand, but this time he also had a small order of nachos. Just as he was passing me he slipped, falling towards me, and the nachos smooshed against my shirt.

His eyes were wide. Ever so slowly he removed the nachos from my shirt and put them back in their box. There was a very noticeable cheese stain left on my shirt that looked like someone had taken a paintbrush with radioactive orange paint to it.

“Um, I’m sorry, sir,” the little boy mumbled.

Suppressing a sigh, I waved my hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll pretreat it when I get back home.”

The boy continued to his seat, much more subdued. Now I was able to enjoy my hot dog! I raised the hotdog to my mouth, closed my eyes…and felt the raindrop smack me in between my eyes.

You have got to be kidding me.