I Want My Picture Back

A few weeks ago I submitted a writing entry to a regular monthly contest offered by Writer's Digest. As part of the contest, titled 'Your Story,' the editors provide a fictional prompt for those who would like to enter an article. I check out the prompts from time to time to see if any of them sound fun or spark my imagination. The one in the February issue did, so I gave it a shot.

Unfortunately my piece wasn't picked as a finalist. I guess the naked picture of myself that I attached to my article didn't impress the judges. Next time I'll make sure the picture includes my torso.

I decided, however, that I'd post it to my blog (the article, not the picture. Sorry ladies). If you want to read the five entries that were picked as finalists, you can visit the Writer's Digest Forum page. You'll have to register a new account, and then you'll receive a password from them to use when you sign in. After signing in with your password, just scroll down the page and click the 'Your Story' link.

Or you can just trust me when I say that mine was the best and clearly should have won. That's much easier. Hope you enjoy it.

Prompt: Parents look on in horror as a magician's trick goes terribly awry at a child's birthday party - 750 word maximum.

The sunny, 70-degree Saturday morning was making it hard to reconcile the fact that I was driving to a six year old’s birthday party. Weather like this hadn’t come along since… well, last year. And for the first time in almost two months, I didn’t have to spend the weekend working. By the time we pulled into Devin’s neighborhood, the number of other things I dreamed of doing was staggering.

As I helped Robbie out of the car, the expression on my face spoke volumes.

“Remember what mom said,” Robbie practically begged. “No swearing.”

I smirked at my son and told him not to worry. Attending a young person’s birthday party is a vacation compared to hosting one, and coupled with the comedy of errors that occurred at his celebration, anyone could understand my recent slip up. But I assured him that Devin’s party wouldn’t rattle me, so long as it ended quickly.

Despite my angst, I wanted Robbie to have a good time and I like seeing him interact with his classmates. I even like Devin. It’s his dad, Kurt, I can do without. His last name might as well be Jones because there is no keeping up with him. And he revels in making you know that. As we walked past his perfectly-manicured lawn and luxury car in the driveway, I told myself to smile and be polite. Today was about the kids.

Kurt greeted us at the door.

“Hey guys! Come on in,” he said. “Where’s Beth, she couldn’t make it?”

“No, she came down with a stomach bug last night,” I told him.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” he said with genuine disappointment.

My wife was all the rage during Robbie’s party, but not by design. Just as she was leaning down to hand out birthday cupcakes to all the neighborhood kids, she accidentally, and quite unfortunately, popped out of her dress. As a result, Beth’s current stomach bug didn’t actually hit her last night, but was carefully planned weeks ago when our invitation arrived in the mail. Not having her at Devin’s party meant I had to bear Kurt on my own.

“Well, you guys are gonna have a great time,” Kurt said. “Devin and the other kids are playing out back before the entertainment starts.”

The invitation didn’t mention anything about entertainment, but Beth and I spent the last three days wondering what was in store.

“We got this magician who is unbelievable,” Kurt said, as it was just the two of us now standing in his foyer. “This guy puts David Copperfield to shame. I was talking to him and he told me that with birthdays, little league parties and bar mitzvahs, he made over 150 grand last year.”

“Wow, he sounds good,” I politely smiled.

“Ah well,” he said, then paused before adding, “We can’t do anything to top what happened at Robbie’s party, huh?”

Kurt laughed as if I had no problem with him joking about the way he and his wife and eight other couples, not to mention their kids, saw my wife in a partial state of undress. I longed to break my “no swearing” promise.

For the next 30 minutes, however, I chatted with the other parents and remembered that free punch and cake wasn’t a terrible way to spend an afternoon. I then settled into the back of the room as the kids grabbed chairs in front of the magician.

“Behold!” He shouted. “I am the Great Wiz-ardo. Prepare to look on in wand-erment.”

Certainly his act was better than his puns, I hoped. Then Kurt sidled up next to me.

“You won’t believe some of the stuff he does,” he whispered.

“For my first trick, I will make Mr. Sprinkles disappear!”

Mr. Sprinkles was Devin’s hamster, who sat contently in his glass-enclosed cage on Wiz-ardo’s prop table. Wiz-ardo then pulled the cape from around his neck and draped it over the cage. After waving his hand and muttering some magician’s gibberish, he yanked the cape away, only Mr. Sprinkles didn’t disappear. Instead, the cape caught onto the back of his cage, pulled it forward and toppled it over the side of the table, spilling Mr. Sprinkles to the floor. The cage quickly followed, and ended its descent by landing on Mr. Sprinkles.

Screams rang out from parents and kids alike as the hamster’s head rolled to a stop at the magician’s feet.

Barely stifling a chuckle, I leaned toward Kurt and said, “You’re such a topper.”