Out Of Their Gourds

“Mom. Mooom!” Dobby calls out walking in to the kitchen.

“Yes kitty.” Writer Lady answers, she is standing in front of the island studying the two bright green and yellow gourds she bought in October for Fall decoration.

“What are you doing?”

“I'm trying to figure out what to do with these gourds now that Halloween is over.  I picked these up because they looked so alien to me.  Like something was going spring forth without warning and destroy us all.” Writer Lady says picking one of the gourds up and displaying it in her hand. Bending over she held it close to Dobby so he could get a better look. “See it almost appears to have strange claw like tendrils. There are these wart like growths on it too.”

Dobby sniffs at it for a minute. A strange pulsating is coming off of the gourd. “That's interesting. Maybe you should put that down now.”

Writer Lady returns the gourd to the top of the kitchen island. Dobby rubs his head against her ankle in approval. “I still don't know what to do with it now,” Writer Lady says chewing on a nail.

“Taking your hand that was touching that thing out of your mouth is a good start.”

“Oh yeah. It's time for supper anyway,” she says turning her attention away from the gourds and to heating up some leftovers. Supper is spent at the computer, getting started with the new post. Writer Lady eats, read, clicks, eats, reads and clicks.

“Watch it kitty.” Writer Lady says reminding Dobby to keep his head out of her food. The ginger tabby sniffs at the contents of Writer Lady's plate, pulling his head away quickly. “What have I told you about getting between me and my food?”

“Don't worry Mom. Not a problem.” Dobby says. Studying the pasty orange blobs on Writer Lady's dinner plate. “I'm not sure you should eat those.”

“It's fine Dobby. Those are sweet potatoes.”

“No they aren't.” Dobby says.

“Yes they are.” Writer Lady says eating a chunk of the creepy concoction.

“No they aren't. Not anymore.”

“What do you mean not anymore?” Writer Lady asks.

“Those gourds of yours contaminated them.”

“Did not,” Writer Lady says.

“Did too.”

“Did not!” She counters.

“When you showed me the gourd it was pulsating. Your sweet potatoes look disgusting. Where are you storing your sweet potatoes?”

Studying Dobby's face for a moment, Writer Lady jumps out of Big Writing Chair turning it over and runs in to the kitchen. Dobby follows. “There are the gourds on the island. The sweet potatoes aren't on the island. They are sitting on the cabinet. See it's fine kitty.”

“The sweet potatoes may be sitting on another cabinet but look at what level they are at.”

“The same one?” Writer Lady asks.

“Those gourds are pulsating. The alien energy coming from those gourds could travel right over to your uncooked potatoes. Contaminating them!”

“The bread machine is in the way. So there.” Writer Lady argues.

“Mom...Alien energy? All that alien stuff can travel in any direction it wants to.”

“Okay fine. I'm tired. Whatever you say. Aliens have destroyed my dinner. Can I go now?”

“Okay...you're not going to be feeling very well when that alien spawn explodes from your girl parts.”

“What?” Writer Lady asks turning around.

“Classic story Mom. Aliens, alien disease or alien technology disguises itself as something harmless or lovable and then finds some subtle way to reproduce itself. Springing forth from some poor unsuspecting human in the most disgusting way possible.”

“It's not going to work right now. It's that time.” Writer Lady announces grinning. “I'll just toss out the gourds, the bread machine and all the potatoes. Problem solved.”

“For you maybe. What about all of those other unsuspecting humans?”

“I'm sure they will love their new alien gourds as much as any baby?”

“ What will you do next year? When the gourds are in the produce aisle again?” Dobby asks.

Writer Lady goes to the dry erase board on the refrigerator and writes. “NO FRESH PRODUCE IN OCTOBER” in big bold letters. “Done.” She says.

Dobby shakes his head in shame and disappointment.

“Dobby, what's wrong?” Tinkletoes asks entering the kitchen after letting himself in.

“Mom will never learn.”

Tinkletoes looks at Writer Lady. Writer Lady shrugs. “Dobby thinks these decorative gourds I bought are pulsating. They must be aliens. The aliens contaminated my sweet potatoes which I cooked, ate and now I'm impregnated with some alien because of the food. I don't know where he gets this stuff.”

Tinkletoes shrugs as well.

Clearing her throat, Writer Lady asks Tinkletoes “Do you have something for me?”

“Um...yeah.” He mutters, handing her a paper bag. “I don't know what the big deal is.”

Writer Lady peers into the bag. “Excuse me, first this isn't my brand. Second, you forgot the Supers and third you did this to yourself. Never touch a woman's feminine products. Sanitary napkins are never toys. Possibly first aid for covering wounds in an apocalypse but never toys.”

Tinkletoes looks down at the floor. “Yes ma'am. Don't worry. I never want to see that aisle again.”

“I hope you never have to just as soon as you take these back and get me what I asked for.” Writer Lady says.

“You won't budge will you?” Tinkletoes asks.

“You play you pay soldier boy.”

“I'll give you everything I have in my wallet just don't send me back there. Please.”

“If I don't send you back how can I be sure you learned anything?” Writer Lady asks.

Tinkletoes leans in and lowers his voice. “I kind of had trouble at the pharmacy. I got confused and scared in that aisle. I'm not allowed back at that store unaccompanied by a responsible adult.”

Writer Lady smiles. Stepping away from Tinkletoes, “Well then, it sounds like you learned your lesson. Give me fifty dollars and you're off the hook.”

“What's in the bag only cost twenty.”

“Inflation?”

“More like extortion.”

“If you'd like to go back to the store yourself...”

“Fifty's fine. Here you go.”

“Got things worked out?” Dobby asks impatiently.

“Yes. You two can go play now.”

Tinkletoes heads into the living room in search of video games. As Tinkletoes settles in to save the world so does Dobby.

“So...um. How do we save Mom?”

“From what?” Tinkletoes asks not looking away from the TV.

“Alien insemination.”

Tinkletoes pauses the game and takes a closer look at Writer Lady.

“No self respecting alien would get that close. Too much work. Aliens have a limited window of time. A woman like that takes way too long.” Tinkletoes continues with his game. “Besides gourds don't impregnate humans they look for lower life forms preferably other plant life to mate with or a less advanced animal species. I wouldn't worry about your mom. I'd keep the gourds away from these other house plants. Don't sit too close to that big aloe vera behind us. You just never know.”