I was at a house out in the country. It was on a dirt road and surrounded by apple orchards and soybean fields. A friend and I were zooming around the yard on a broom, hooting and laughing hysterically.
After a while we notice lots of cars on the sides of the road. Lots of tents are set up in the orchard. Friend goes to investigate. She comes back after a minute, mumbling about Pokemon.
We hop back on the broom, but now it isn’t flying properly. I tell Friend that it isn’t meant for two people and she’ll have to get off.
“You said we’d take turns!” she says sullenly.
“I did not!” I reply, “but I’ll get you your own broom!”
“You’ll just fly off!” she huffs.
(She knows me well.)
“If I don’t get you a broom,” I tell her. “I’ll... I’ll... let you hit me!”
This apparently convinces her. She jumps off the broom so suddenly that I crash to the ground on the side of the road and roll into the ditch. Just then a small dusty tornado spins by on the road. A weirdly-dressed fellow with a goatee steps out of it. He’s wearing a gold-trimmed vest, peasant shirt, red pants, and a shiny hat.
“Who’s this?!” Friend laughs.
“This,” I tell her, struggling to get up, “Is my... Beardy... Godfather? He’s here to give you your own broom.”
I look at him hopefully. He grins and attempts to help me up off the ground. He doesn’t seem to know how to do this, so I have to explain it to him. Friend begins demanding her own broom again, and when he’s finally helped me up, Beardy hands her one. She rides off on it, cackling.
Miffed and covered in dirt, I pick up my own dented broom. Beardy Godfather is looking at me expectantly. I realize I’m still going to have to share it.
“Ok,” I sigh, “but I’m driving! You behave yourself!”
He grins and nods enthusiastically. Apparently Beardy Godfathers can’t talk. We hop on the broom and join Friend, who is happily dive-bombing the people in tents with mud balls...
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