Black Bubblegum...I wish!

                                                                                   Fall, 2005                       

Wish I had the experience as our Cuz (who passed out Blackjack bubble gum after telling the story)! Last night I was asked to tell stories for a birthday party. (yeah, I know). This woman was so excited to have me come and tell stories. She tried last year and I was booked, so she called again (flattery can get you anything). Although the house was decked out in Halloween, she had a "theme" party of Cowboys and Indians (red flag). Okay, so I was to tell Native American stories to 45 (mainly 2- 5 yr.olds). Stop it, I can hear the snickers!

When I came to the house, the clown was making balloon sculptures in one corner, face-painter was painting on faces in another, and the mother was directing kids into pumpkin painting. (oh, sheesh). So, I set up in the living room. It was actually a good place to tell except that the toy room was wide open to my left, and I could see kids, every once in a while, meandering off to play. I had asked my hostess to please collect all the balloons. I'm a balloon-a-phobic and can't stand to have them in the same room because invariably they start sword fighting, chewing on them, or playing with them while I'm telling. So, she collected the balloons, and, sure enough, two lines into the first story, the one errant balloon that wasn't collected POPPED. (whaaaaa!) I kept going. The first story kept their attention, but the second story was just too much. They started to walk away. At the end, I had maybe 10 listeners. But that isn't the whole story.

When I first arrived I went over the stories with the hostess, and she was surprised that I wasn't telling "The Piasa." I told her it was definitely a story for older kids and even adults. But, I said that I wouldn't mind waiting around until the little kids left, and I would tell it around the campfire for older kids and the adults. She was so happy. It seems that a lot of her clients were there, and many of them used the Piasa as their logo, and they would looooooooooooooove to hear it.

So, after the first set, I sat on the couch and talked to a friend who was there, and we watched the Cardinal/Sox game while the kids ran rampant. The hostess gave a goodie bag to each child that would make the Oscar's bags look cheap. Each child got, amongst other things, a ray gun (you can see where this is going). You know the type - the one with lights that blink and an annoying high-pitched whistle that goes off every time you pulverize your enemies?

After a half an hour, the hostess came over to me and said, "Are you still here?"

Uh-oh...had I intruded somehow? "Yes....I thought....you wanted me...to tell...the Piasa after the little kids left."

"Oh you don't have to wait around. You probably have other things to do." Okay, folks, sometimes I'm a little dense. I should have read the brush off when I got it.

But no. I, in my naivety I said, "Oh, no, I can either watch the game at home or here and wait to tell the story." Then, in her rather patronizing voice, she said that it was up to me.

Then, oh-ma-ga, she forgot the Pinata! Everyone outside! They all disappeared to whack the Trojan horse until it spilled it's stomach filled with even more sugar-ladened goodies.

Then, she announced that there was a marshmallow roast around the fire, and that the storyteller was going to tell one final story. Most of the little biddy guys had left - notice I said "most." There was still 6 or 7 of them  brandishing ray guns in one hand and sticks with burned marshmallows circling the fire at breakneck speeds. Oh, and, of course, the hostess insisted that the designated drinking table come over while the storyteller told her story. (how many red flags do I need!!!!!). So, there is the group of drunken business partners laughing at everything, and the kiddos running, and others just being rude and talking...and me! I put myself in auto-mode. I blocked out everything to just make it through the story. Maybe....maybe two pairs of eyes were listening. I felt like one of those marshmallows on slow burn. Somewhere in the chaos, the hostess led the kids back into the house. I didn't even see it, I was so focused on telling the story. I left to a lukewarm applause, gathered my purse and stool, and high-tailed it out of there before I was run out of town by the sheriff's posse leaving a trail of red flags in my wake.

How many years have you been doing this, you ask? Some days, I just wish I had black bubble gum to give out (the real black bubble gum!)