The Trap

I scampered over the counter to the hard ceramic floor. The sound of a broom attacking the counter followed me. I huddled under the table, fearing for my life.

Grandma could get very angry when you touch her things, and boy had I touched them. I looked down to the package in my hands. It was wrapped in soft plastic, my treasure. Grandma must be missing her glasses, she generally had better aim.

I heard the slow plastic shuffle of Grandma's slippers padding across the tiles. I pushed a chair away from the table and made a dash for it.

It was a trap of the worst kind, a grandma trap. She stood above me, broom raised. With a mighty heave she brought it down. I pushed my hands over my head to blunt the blow. The package saved me from the broom, but it paid dearly.

Careening to the floor, the package split asunder showing its contents. There on the tiles sat the scattered remnants of Grandma's false teeth.

She slowly retrieved her glasses from her head, placed them on her nose, and looked to the floor.

"Well, that will require a trip to dentist," is all she said.