Hello. I am Mini Rebecca Rubin the First (but of course you already knew that). I am here to tell you about my day, which started out boring and then got better. But enough about how bored I am . . .
We were bored. Aciana and I had nothing to do. No lessons in spying (taught to us by Saige Copeland, leader of the TSO), no pranks to pull . . . In an attempt to cure our boredom, we decided to introduce our pets to each other.
My pet is Crickety the cricket. He’s fun to ride. Aciana’s pet is Duckie, who honestly doesn’t do much. (I like to call him Demented Duckie, because of the savage, harrowing look on his face.)
Our pets greeted each other, as we commanded them to. Crickety said hello stiffly and politely. Duckie just sat there in Aciana’s arms, gurgling (Duckie is challenged in the smarts area).
We sat in silence for awhile, growing bored quickly. Then Aciana jumped to her feet and sniffed the air.
“Do I smell . . . lemons?” she asked.
I sniffed, too. The sharp, tangy scent of lemons filled my nose. “Where’s it coming from?” I wondered, gazing around.
“I need to get somewhere high, so I can look for the source of that delectable smell,” I told my Spanish-speaking friend.
With the help of Crickety and Aciana, I was able to reach the scratching post on the wall behind us (it belonged to the humans’ enormous, fluffy cat). The rough rope made my tender hands itch, but I continued to climb. Just above the scratching post was a counter, the perfect look-out place.
Once I reached the top, my hands were red and raw. I heaved myself onto the countertop. My unruly brown hair stuck to my forehead in icky, wilting curls, and my filmy skirt glued itself to my clammy, sweaty legs.
My eyes flitted over the surrounding world, searching for the source of the lemon scent. I murmured to myself, “I spy with my little eye . . . pie?!”
It was! Pie, sitting out in the open, unprotected, on the floor.
I tumbled down the scratching post at an unbelievable speed. Once at the bottom, I managed to cry, “PIE!” before zooming off in the direction of the food. Aciana raced after me, her long black braid flying out behind her.
When I reached the pie, the lemon scent almost overpowering me, I collapsed onto my knees. “Pie . . . oh, you beautiful, delicious thing,” I crooned.
It was my favorite kind: lemon meringue. Perfectly golden peaks rose from the surface of the pie. Thick, custard-like, aromatic filling peeked out from under the meringue.
I giggled to myself, trembling in delight. Pie! Pie! It was almost too good to be true.
Aciana and I were unable to control ourselves, and we soon found our way to the 18″ dolls’ kitchen to borrow a knife. Back to the lemon meringue pie we dashed, where we cut a large piece of pie to share.
“Oh my,” I said to myself as we started to eat. “Pie!”
~Mini Rebecca Rubin the First