part 7 {rach}

“Umm, I’d have to talk with my parents,” Eliana said. Was this lady off her rocker? A pig… as a pet?
“I’ll give you my number,” Mrs. Kirk said, pulling a piece of paper and a pen out of her purse. “Think it over, talk to your parents and get back to me, alright?”
Eliana smiled, looking a bit confused, and nodded, accepting the paper that Mrs. Kirk proffered. “Have a nice day,” she said as the petit lady walked out the door.

Eliana’s cell phone rang at quarter of five.
“Keep the noise down, Ellie,” her manager Gary called from his office. “I’m trying to concentrate on these fitness reports.”
“Sorry, sir,” Eliana replied, pulling the phone out of her purse. “Hello?” she whispered into the receiver.
“Hey, it’s me,” Hayden said.
“Hi, what’s up?”
“Can you come over and have dinner with us tonight?” Hayden replied.
“I’m sure that’s fine,” Eliana said. “Any special reason?”
“Mom picked up some tongue at the store yesterday – yes, I said tongue. But everyone here refuses to eat it. So she wants you to come over and try it out. You’re the only one who can eat stuff like that without gagging.”
“Umm, sounds fine,” Eliana said.
Hayden laughed. “I’m grilling hotdogs too,” he said, “so you won’t starve if the tongue tastes like leather.”
“Alright, I’ll come over after work,” she said, smiling. “Later!”

Eliana left work at 5:03pm. The ride home was short, and she stopped in a home before going over to Hayden’s house.
“Mom, can I have dinner with the Zanglers?” Eliana called from the kitchen. She dropped the backpack on a chair and ran upstairs to change.
“Sounds fine with me,” Mrs. Vostras called back from her office. “We were just going to have leftover honeyed liver.”
Eliana changed quickly, started the coffee maker for her dad and then headed across the street to the Zangler’s house. Addison answered the door for her.
“Hold your breath,” he said, eyes wide, as she stepped inside. “The tongue smells like a rotten fish stick that got doused in Worcestershire sauce and left to decompose in a dump.”
Eliana laughed. “It can’t be that bad, Addison. Probably just a little bit-” She stopped mid-sentence as a smell wafted past her nose.
Addison giggled at the face she made. “You look like a-”
“Don’t say it,” Eliana gagged, plugging up her nose. “I have no idea where you get these wacky descriptions, but they’re a bit too graphic for me.”
“I think ‘em up while I’m falling asleep,” Addison replied.
“Good for you,” Eliana muttered, peeking into the kitchen. Mrs. Zangler was standing in front of the over, wearing big purple oven mitts and a bright yellow apron. A large platter of something rested on the stove, wisps of steam curling up into the air. It looks like pork tenderloin, Eliana thought, minus the pleasant aroma. How on earth can something smell so horrible?

**This section is dedicated to the one and only Andy-the-hula-hooper...he was the inspiration for this section, and is a veritable expert on potbellied pigs. (except for the fact that he knows, like, nothing about them) aaaaaanyways, kudos to Andy for the exceptional advice and inspiration, I'll have your million dollars for you next December. :D

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to quote the famous and all-wonderful Spot Conlon, "I say that what you say... is what I say." soooo profound. don't you just love it?????? (go brooklyn :D)