Saturday is a busy day at the boathouse. Roderick woke up early, fed Knuckles and Laddie, then walked briskly to Mill Pond to open up for the day.
Molly ran home, showered, put on her gi, and walked to the dojo on Main Street.
Natasha slept in.
Megan Cupcake woke, put on her dark green bathrobe, opened her secret detailed journal and began to write.
Dorabella opened her bookstore. There were a few children waiting patiently for story hour.
At the Red Trolley Diner, the elusive guy who runs the joint arrived early, sliced the scrapple, opened jars of applesauce and prepared for the morning rush. Stella grumpily greeted the first few customers.
Mrs. Greenwood, at the Beaune estate, hummed as she dusted in the Great Hall. With a cloth, she wiped fingerprints from the glass coffin holding the stuffed and preserved remains of Auguste Beaune. The reader may recall that the children of Beauneville love to press their cheeks against the glass; they consider this to be a source of great good luck. Of course, the practice is strictly forbidden.
Katie Zeppelin and her father Curtis Zeppelin opened Zeppelin Drugs. Katie is Roderick's age; she is perky and sharp, with short blonde hair and a svelte but curvaceous figure. Roderick doesn't know Katie very well, but he thinks she's smart and good-looking. Katie doesn't know Roderick very well, but she thinks he's nice.
Sarah Flapper parked her stretch SUV in her normal fashion, without regard for the fenders of others. Betsy Flapper, sitting in the front seat, surfed the mobile web on her iPhone.
As expected on a hot sunny day in July, the boathouse was very busy. Roderick and Mr. Armstrong worked feverishly to get canoes for customers and help them embark.
At the dojo, Molly worked with the little ones, the white belts and yellow belts. She showed them several ways to block a punch, and several ways to throw a punch; then, she had then slowly step through a kata.
Natasha woke and went downstairs dressed in a t-shirt and shorts. The housekeeper made muffins -- lovely muffins. Natasha downed several with milk and some ripe cherries.
Megan finished writing in her journal, went downstairs (still dressed in her bathrobe) and ate breakfast. She washed the dishes, then sat at the kitchen table and cleaned her Glock.
Dorabella wriggled her ample bottom into the reading chair, a circle of children before her; she cleared her throat and began to read from the latest in the Michael Caterpillar series. The children were rapt.
Tables at the Red Trolley began to fill. Stella, per usual, was grumpy and rude to everyone. All customers but one ordered the breakfast special, scrapple and applesauce. The outlier was Mr. Pilkington of Winnebago, who isn't a regular, but is just passing through and turned left off the Interstate instead of turning right. Mr. Pilkington ordered the Dar es Salaam Omelette, which the menu describes as "a tasty blend of roasted goat meat, plantain, peanuts and vegetables from Zanzibar, spiced with cloves and wrapped in a four-egg omelette". Unfortunately for Mr. Pilkington, this item is on the menu purely for show. His order was taken and ignored.
Mrs. Greenwood reshelved some books in the library, then shooshed some youth who were tittering a bit too loud as they perused the well-thumbed copy of Erotic Art in Western Civilization.
The drugstore was not very busy. Katie restocked the condoms and incontinence aids, then chatted with Mrs. Wigglesworth, who needed a laxative but wasn't sure which one to select. Katie reviewed the pros and cons of each of the twenty-seven brands in stock, and several on order. Still, Mrs. Wigglesworth hesitated.
In the meat department of Ackerman's Market, Mr. Gutman killed a chicken for Mrs. Flabbergast.
At the Cafe Venice, Sarah Flapper tapped away on her MacBook as a Skinny Vente Soy Latte steamed near her fingertips. Betsy sexted on her iPhone, her double bubble tea untouched.
Somewhere in the Adriatic, aboard the Natasha, Mrs. Zemlinsky sipped her dirty martini.
