Weazel Ball

The Cracker Barrel storefront was cluttered with all sorts of merchandising stands. A stand full of pancake mix and frying pans greet the couple as they walk in, advertising an early morning meal full of happiness. The Man and Woman, however, are interested in dinner and wait impatiently for the rest of their party. Thankfully, the store offers some enjoyment with its outdated novelties and retro candy. The two hurry to the toy corner and entertain themselves with cap guns and fart gel. Suddenly, the Woman lets out a shriek and snatches a box off the shelf. It contains a Weazel Ball, an utterly worthless toy.

“Oh honey, can we buy it!?”

“Oh yeah, of course,” he replies, thinking it’s a joke.

“Great! The Dog will love it.”

“Oh, you’re serious? The Dog will hate that thing.”

“That’s not true,” the Woman shoots back. “When I was younger our dog used to love his Weazel Ball.”

She searches for an illustration. A live Weazel Ball rolls around in a tiny cage, running into the wall over and over again.

“See? Isn’t it adorable?”

“Not in the least.”

“Aw, don’t be so grumpy – we’ll get a table soon.”

“My hunger is not affecting the Weazel Ball’s poor first impression, I assure you.”

“If you say so – I still want it.”

The man stares at the clashing colors of the ball and frayed, split ends of the weazel’s artificial fur.

“How do you turn it off?”

“You have to open it up and take the battery out.”

“Really? Now that is just – “

The Man’s rant is cut short by their friend’s arrival.

“How’s it going, you two? Ready to eat?”

“Absolutely,” says the Man.

A week has passed and the Weazel Ball resides in their house, hidden in some forgotten corner.