Weekly Writing Challenges

These are weekly writing challenges hosted by wordpress

The Bitts

This is part of this week’s writing challenge

Mr. Prad Bitt, the owner of Bitt Industrious, was on his way to pick his son up from school when he looked at himself in the mirror and noticed that he was looking a little pudgy.

“Honey, do you think I’m starting to look a little fat” asked Prad as he was ogling himself. Prad had never been fat in any sense of the word, but he would frequently get worried whenever he saw any signs of wear and tear.

“I don’t know dear, I think you’re fine. You know what they say ‘Two donuts a day keeps the doctor away’” Replied Prad’s wife, Jangelina. Jangelina had never been the smartest bulb on the tree, she mainly got through life on her good looks.

“Well that’s what Dr. Doctr says and he’s almost never wrong… except for that time he told Jared that he was fine and that he should stay away from Subway.”

Prad’s friend, Jimmy Doctr, had always been a good friend of the Bitt family ever since elementary school when Jimmy helped get a crayon out of Prad’s nose.

“I think I may go to the gym after I pick up Prady from school today.” Prad was again looking at himself in the mirror and decided he did not like what he saw looking back.

“Okay, just remember to hang out with your friend today. You’ve blown him off six times and I don’t think that he’s believing that you’ve eaten bad clams anymore.” Jangelina was tired of using excuses on Prad’s friend, especially since it was a well known fact that Prad Bitt did not eat seafood.

“Ugh, okay fine. But if he starts tell another bodybuilding story, I’m going to leave him at the gym.” Prad was clearly annoyed by his friend.

As Prad Bitt picked up his preppy, overachieving son from Riverside High School, he found, much to his surprise, his son in a football uniform. This was a surprise because Prady had never wanted to play football and didn’t exactly have the build for it. Prady Bitt was a 16-year old, 5 foot 6, 120lb, Asthmatic boy who rarely wore anything but sweater vests and khakis. Prad was still trying to imagine his son playing football when Prady came over and greeted his father with a hardy handshake.

“Little surprised that I’m on the football team, aren’t you Dad?” Prady asked his dazed and confused father.

“I’m surprised they didn’t ask you sooner dude. I’m going to drop you off at home and then I’m going to head back out, so I should be home for dinner but not before that.” Prad was ushering his son into their Chevy Impala. “I’m going to the gym”

Prady couldn’t help but laugh. “No, really, where are you going?”

“Why are you laughing? I go there all the time.” Prad was bewildered by his son’s question.

“No reason, hey what are we having for dinner? Can I have Bruce over for dinner?” Prady had obviously changed the subject but his father had been caught off guard with the question about Bruce. Bruce Jemmings was a rich kid who wound up with, what Prad called, the “wrong” crowd.

“Bruce!? Why do you want to have that kid over?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to have him over?”

“Maybe because he went to jail for arson.” Prad had always kept that fact in the back of his mind for times like these.

“Alleged arson!” Prady had also kept that counter in the back of his mind for times like these.

“He was the only kid next to the building, he had a receipt for a gallon of gas in his back pocket, and his own father said that he did it.” It was clear that Prad got angry about this issue.

“Alright, fine Dad! He’s my friend but you’re my Dad so I respect your wishes. Let’s just drop the subject.”

Prad dropped his son off at their old Victorian house and saw a strange sight. Prad’s friend had just pulled up in his rundown RV, knocking over Prad’s mailbox in the process. Prad’s friend, Sylvester Stallone, emerged from the vehicle, he towered over everyone else at 6 foot 4, 6 foot 5 if you count the army boots with muscles galore.

“Prad! It’s been far too long my good friend! We should go inside and have some tea and crumpets.” The name was just a coincidence, Sylvester Stallone was actually a British man famous for his bodybuilding. “The queen’s been calling for you, she wants you to come back and visit the motherland!”

“I’m happy right here in America. What are you doing here so early?” Prad tried to seem sincere but was overplaying his part.

“Well, I called this morning’ and your love picked up, she said you ate some back clams so I thought I would come over here and feed you some crumpets. Dr. Doctr says they’re supposed to work miracles.”

“Well, the fact is I’m feeling a lot better, I think it may have been just one of those 24-hour things.” Prad easily could have stopped right there and made up another lie. “Actually, I needed an opinion from someone in your position. I was about to go to the gym because I think I’m getting fat. Do you think I’m getting a little fat?”

“No!”

“Oh, that’s a big relief!”

“We’ll just tell everyone you’re the first pregnant man, that why you’ll get a million dollars.” Sylvester said this with a laugh that wasn’t shared with Prad. “Come on then, I’ll go to the gym with you. You drive, I already had a couple beers.”

“But you drove here… never mind” Prad got in the driver’s seat.

“But really why are you going to the gym?” asked Sylvester

“My son asked the same thing. Why is it so weird for me to go the gym when I go there regularly?” Prad found this odd but proceeded to start the car.

When they finally got to the gym, or at least, what was supposed to be there, Prad suddenly realized why everyone kept asking him why he was going to the gym.

To Be Continued