mother came all the way from Missouri.”
“That’s what I mean,” I said. “I’m duty bound to have a good time because Jarvis Allen and his mother came all the way from Missouri. He’s so Sara Lee sometimes I want to throw up in his hair.”
“Lit-toe! Lit-toe!” my mother exclaimed. “Jarvis Allen is one of the nicest young men in TADpole or any other organization and what does ‘Sara Lee’ mean? Did you say Sara Lee, like Sara Lee the cake?”
“Sara Lee means Similar And Regular And Like Everyone Else.”
“Jarvis Allen?” my mother said.
“Jarvis Allen.”
“With that little twisted leg of his?”
“Twisted leg and all, he’s a Sara Lee,” I said.
“Well, I don’t know where you got your Sara Lee theory, but I’d take it back to wherever you got it and get a better one. Jarvis Allen has overcome a great deal to become what he is, and you of all people ought to appreciate that. You ought to thank God you’re p.f. and didn’t have to overcome what he’s had to.”
“What he’s become is a bore,” I said. “It hasn’t got anything to do with being p.f. or not p.f. A bore is a bore.”
“Besides,” my mother said, “I don’t see anything wrong with being similar and regular and like everyone else.”
“I know you don’t,” I said.
“Oh, Little Little, this is no way to begin your birthday weekend. Little Lion will be here tomorrow morning and you’ll feel a lot better!”
I pulled into the circular drive in front of The Lakeside Motel, where there was a banner reading:
WELCOME TO THE AMERICAN DIMINUTIVES.
“I hope the silverware arrived,” my mother said. “Let me off at the front door, and while you’re parking the car, park that bad mood you’re in.”
“Okay,” I said and stopped the car at the entrance.
“Okay?” she said, leaning across to give me a kiss. “Because this is your party, Birthday Girl, and I might just read my poem for everyone.”
One of the conveniences The American Diminutives provided at parties and conventions was silverware scaled down to the proper size for us. When it didn’t arrive, we had to use plastic forks and spoons and knives or make do with regular services, which were always too heavy and unwieldy.
Jarvis Allen’s mother always set up a little booth where she took orders for special silverware, kitchen utensils, sporting equipment, and so on, and as I came in the back door of the inn, I saw her assembling it.
“Happy birthday a day early, Little Little,” she said. “You’d better hurry. They’re about to start the meeting in the ballroom!”
By the time I got there, the meeting was underway. Jarvis Allen was announcing the names of TADpoles who had been accepted at colleges around the country.
“… Lydia Schwartz, Syracuse University!”
Applause.
“Norman Powers, Rider College!”
Applause.
“And last of all, with all due humility, yours truly has been accepted for pre-law at the University of Missouri.”
Applause and cheers and whistles.
Jarvis Allen held his hand up for silence.
“And now,” Jarvis Allen said, “before we commence the festivities, I would like to suggest that we all sing our TADpole song, which is the first one on your song sheets, and I would be delighted to start us off!”
He began tapping his good foot and humming to find the pitch, and then to the tune of “The Caissons Go Rolling Along,” he began, and everyone joined in.
Over hill, over dale,
We will hit the dusty trail,
As the TADpoles go rolling along!
In and out, hear us roar,
Little’s better, less is more!
As the TADpoles go rolling along!
And its Hi! Hi! Hee! Diminutives are we!
Shout out your message loud and strong (one, two!)
We’re all small,
And going to have a ball,
As the TADpoles go rolling along! (Keep ’em rolling!)
As the TADpoles go rolling along!
After I said something hateful about someone, I always had the suspicion God was going to get me for it, so I made a beeline to Jarvis
“That’s what I mean,” I said. “I’m duty bound to have a good time because Jarvis Allen and his mother came all the way from Missouri. He’s so Sara Lee sometimes I want to throw up in his hair.”
“Lit-toe! Lit-toe!” my mother exclaimed. “Jarvis Allen is one of the nicest young men in TADpole or any other organization and what does ‘Sara Lee’ mean? Did you say Sara Lee, like Sara Lee the cake?”
“Sara Lee means Similar And Regular And Like Everyone Else.”
“Jarvis Allen?” my mother said.
“Jarvis Allen.”
“With that little twisted leg of his?”
“Twisted leg and all, he’s a Sara Lee,” I said.
“Well, I don’t know where you got your Sara Lee theory, but I’d take it back to wherever you got it and get a better one. Jarvis Allen has overcome a great deal to become what he is, and you of all people ought to appreciate that. You ought to thank God you’re p.f. and didn’t have to overcome what he’s had to.”
“What he’s become is a bore,” I said. “It hasn’t got anything to do with being p.f. or not p.f. A bore is a bore.”
“Besides,” my mother said, “I don’t see anything wrong with being similar and regular and like everyone else.”
“I know you don’t,” I said.
“Oh, Little Little, this is no way to begin your birthday weekend. Little Lion will be here tomorrow morning and you’ll feel a lot better!”
I pulled into the circular drive in front of The Lakeside Motel, where there was a banner reading:
WELCOME TO THE AMERICAN DIMINUTIVES.
“I hope the silverware arrived,” my mother said. “Let me off at the front door, and while you’re parking the car, park that bad mood you’re in.”
“Okay,” I said and stopped the car at the entrance.
“Okay?” she said, leaning across to give me a kiss. “Because this is your party, Birthday Girl, and I might just read my poem for everyone.”
One of the conveniences The American Diminutives provided at parties and conventions was silverware scaled down to the proper size for us. When it didn’t arrive, we had to use plastic forks and spoons and knives or make do with regular services, which were always too heavy and unwieldy.
Jarvis Allen’s mother always set up a little booth where she took orders for special silverware, kitchen utensils, sporting equipment, and so on, and as I came in the back door of the inn, I saw her assembling it.
“Happy birthday a day early, Little Little,” she said. “You’d better hurry. They’re about to start the meeting in the ballroom!”
By the time I got there, the meeting was underway. Jarvis Allen was announcing the names of TADpoles who had been accepted at colleges around the country.
“… Lydia Schwartz, Syracuse University!”
Applause.
“Norman Powers, Rider College!”
Applause.
“And last of all, with all due humility, yours truly has been accepted for pre-law at the University of Missouri.”
Applause and cheers and whistles.
Jarvis Allen held his hand up for silence.
“And now,” Jarvis Allen said, “before we commence the festivities, I would like to suggest that we all sing our TADpole song, which is the first one on your song sheets, and I would be delighted to start us off!”
He began tapping his good foot and humming to find the pitch, and then to the tune of “The Caissons Go Rolling Along,” he began, and everyone joined in.
Over hill, over dale,
We will hit the dusty trail,
As the TADpoles go rolling along!
In and out, hear us roar,
Little’s better, less is more!
As the TADpoles go rolling along!
And its Hi! Hi! Hee! Diminutives are we!
Shout out your message loud and strong (one, two!)
We’re all small,
And going to have a ball,
As the TADpoles go rolling along! (Keep ’em rolling!)
As the TADpoles go rolling along!
After I said something hateful about someone, I always had the suspicion God was going to get me for it, so I made a beeline to Jarvis
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