--
“Dude, it’s pizza time!” Porter called from the kitchen as soon as Riley walked through the door. He was wielding an oven mitt on each hand, as usual. Back when they’d first moved into the apartment on Medina, Riley had gone out and bought kitchen supplies without first checking to see if Porter had already picked any up. As a result, they’d ended up with two oven mitts, and ever since, Porter always made a point of wearing both whenever he cooked. As far as Riley could tell, the extra mitt didn’t seem to keep Porter from finding creative new ways to burn himself. All it did was make him twice as clumsy when handling pots and pans.
But he put on a hell of a good dinosaur-themed puppet show with them.
Riley shrugged off his jacket and slung it over the back of the nearest chair. Behind him, Porter’s focus had already made a rapid shift from pizza preparation to practicing his dinosaur noises. But before Riley could disappear into his bedroom, Porter suddenly stopped mid-rawr and called, “Come back here and eat some pizza!”
“Not hungry,” Riley mumbled. “Besides, I have to pack. Don’t you have to pack too?”
“I finished.”
“You’ve only been home for half an hour.”
Porter shrugged. Riley knew that his roommate kept very few personal items, so he let it go. Again, he turned for his room, but Porter called, “Dude, you have to eat. I made that pizza from scratch, you know. Half meat, half veggie, depending on whether you feel like Mr. Tyrannosaurus—” he held up his left oven mitt, “—or Mr. Brachiosaurus.” He held up his right mitt and waved.
Riley squinted. “Did you sew eyes and teeth on those oven mitts?”
“It was long overdue, and you know it.” He continued to hold up Mr. Brachiosaurus, which looked so pathetic that Riley had to admit it was somehow endearing.
Finally, Riley rolled his eyes and took a seat at the dining table. “I’ll take a couple veggie pieces.”
No comments:
Post a Comment