tiny story · writing

Drink Your Juice

Melania blasted open the massive double doors with both hands, her long silken hair caught up like a TRESemmé cyclone in the wild breeze she kicked up. Then she took off walking, her 4-inch Louboutins clacking against the glittering-gold marble as she purposefully stomped down the corridor like a Victoria’s Secret angel working the wings and underpants catwalk.

When she got to the end of the hallway, she stopped and struck three poses in front of a mousy little receptionist watching her from behind a desk.

“Good morning, Mrs. Trump,” the girl said awkwardly as the statuesque woman shot her a bit of “Blue Steel”.

“Where is he?” Melania snapped.

“He’s in the cafeteria,” the mouse replied.

Melania took off again, using her signature walk, looking from side to side at the audience who wasn’t really there.

In the cafeteria, she found Donald sitting in a booster seat wearing a bib. He looked very disgruntled, with liquid all over his chin and his lower lip sticking out in a pout that could be seen from outer space. A sippy cup with a big blue bird on it sat tumbled over on its side nearby.

“Donald is having a bad day,” the headmistress said with a worn out I’ve-totally-had-it-up-to-here-with-this-shit look on her face.

“He pushed over a bunch of his playmates on the playground, he wouldn’t share during share time, he kept yelling WRONG at his teacher during circle time, and now he won’t drink his special drink,” she explained.

Melania looked at her husband disapprovingly and then sat next to him as the frazzled lady walked away for a moment’s peace.

“Donald,” she said as he looked at her. “Why are you being so especially bad today. And why do you not dreenk your Tweetter elixir?”

“It’s yucky,” he said, making a yucky face.

Melania sighed. This again.

“Of course it’s yucky, darling,” she explained. “It’s yucky because it helps you say all da yucky things you say on da Tweeter all da time dat your fans love so much.”

Donald hunkered down in his chair and moved his head back and forth over and over again, not wanting to hear her.

Melania knew exactly how to handle this.

“Leesten to me, little man,” she said, taking hold of his moist chin with her hand and making him look at her.

“You dreenk dis Tweeter juice and I will let you have sleepover with Vladimir.”

Donald rolled the idea around in his head.

“No,” he said defiantly.

Melania squinted her squinty eyes.

“How about sleepover with Vladimir and Uncle Ted?”

Donald sniffled thinking about it.

“No,” he said again.

“You drive hard bargain,” she told him tapping her talons on the tabletop. “You dreenk your Tweeter juice and I will let you have Vladimir, Uncle Ted and da Chachi boy over for a whole weekend.”

Donald’s face grew solemn while he thought about that.

“Okay,” he finally said, snapping up the toppled cup, placing it in his mouth and sucking eagerly.

Pleased with herself, she stood up, kissed him on the flossy head and headed out of the cafeteria. When she passed the headmistress, she gave thumbs up as they both heard Donald emit a belch so loud it shook the walls of the building.

Melania sashayed away, slid on her sunglasses, pushed open the massive double doors once again and stepped out into the bright orange sunlight.

“Same sheeet, deeferent day,” she sighed.

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