I.A.M.M. is not as fast as A.S.A.P. which spells T-R-O-U-B-L-E.

Source : http://www.highlightskids.com/Stories/Fiction/F0200_iamM.asp...

"They have to be refrigerated or they'll rot."“In a Minute Mom” is soon enough. Or is it?

Mom didn’t like the idea at all.

“Why do you have to keep those mealworms in the refrigerator, Dorsi?” she asked.

“Mom, my lizards got to eat.”

“But why can’t your lizard eat lukewarm mealworms?”

“Because they have to be refrigerated or they’ll rot.” I told Mom the facts. Not pretty but true.

“At least put them on the high shelf and in the back,” Mom said. “Away from you-know-who.”

You-know-who is my little brother, Travis. “In a minute, Mom,” I said.

When I say, “In a minute, Mom,” that means I’ll do it—sometime. Of course that sometime might be in the next century.

“Come on, Travis,” I said. “Help me feed my lizard.”

Travis likes helping me. In fact, there’s only one thing he likes better. Cooking. His version of cooking, anyway. His favorite recipe is stone soup. He got the idea from this book Mom reads to him. Only instead of stones, he uses his blocks for making stone soup.

After we fed my lizard, Mom called us to the supper table.

“Have you moved that container yet?” Mom asked me.

“No, Mom,” I said, dishing up another helping of green-bean casserole. “Don’t worry. He won’t get it.”

“But I might grab the wrong container and—what if I told you that those crunchy things on top of the green beans aren’t really onions?”

I stopped chewing. “That’s not funny, Mom.”

She turned her attention to Travis. “Travis, that bread doesn’t belong in your milk cup.”

“Me cook,” Travis said with a big smile. “Dorsi eat.”

I pretended to eat what Travis had “cooked” and told him, “Yum-yum good.”

“Yum-yum good,” he said, stirring the glop in his glass.

Later that night I watched TV while Mom put Travis to bed. Then Mom came into the family room.

“Finally,” she said, dropping into a chair. “I had to wait until Travis’s stone soup finished cooking before he’d go to sleep.”

“Why didn’t you tell him to put it in the crock pot again?”

“I tried,” she said. “He didn’t fall for it this time. Listen, Dorsi. About those mealworms. You need to move them A.S.A.P.”

Mom thinks I’m supposed to do everything A.S.A.P. (As Soon As Possible). I think I.A.M.M. (In A Minute, Mom) is plenty soon enough. “As soon as this show’s over.”

But by the time the show was over, we’d both forgotten about the mealworms. The next morning I opened the refrigerator and reached for the container to get a couple of mealworms for my lizard.

There is no word horrible enough to describe what was in there.“They’re gone!”


“My mealworms.”

Mom and I stared at the container from Marsha’s Pet Shop, which was open and empty.

“Travis!” we both yelled at the same time.

Travis was sitting on the floor in his room stirring something in a big plastic cup from Shakes To Go.

“Yum-yum good.”

“Travis,” said Mom. “What is that?”

“A shake. Yum-yum good.” Travis went right on stirring.

I worked up my courage and looked into the cup. There is no word horrible enough to describe what was in there.

“Dorsi drink,” Travis said.

I backed away. “It stinks!”

“Travis,” said Mom, “show me where you got this milkshake.”

“Yum-yum good.”

We followed him to the kitchen. Of course he opened the refrigerator. Of course he pointed to the mealworm container.

“He made a mealworm milkshake,” I cried. If only I’d moved the container A.S.A.P. to the high shelf as Mom had said.

Mom poured the you-know-what down the garbage disposal. It made a horrible stink going down.

That afternoon I bought more mealworms at Marsha’s Pet Store.

“Dorsi, you’ll put those mealworms somewhere Travis won’t get them?” Mom said.

“A.S.A.P., Mom.” This time I hid them at the back of the top shelf of the refrigerator behind the horseradish. Out of sight, out of reach, out of mind. At least I hoped so.

Travis went back to making stone soup. Which is a big improvement over you-know-what. I’d rather eat stone soup any day.

Yum-yum good.