A Refreshing Post

The Termagant spent over a year on her conceptualization of the world's most structurally sound lemonade stand. She stole ideas from the public library, as well as pencils, pens, and whatever else would not be detected by the security buzzer. She became paranoid that the Toothbrush Creature was going to steal her idea. Therefore, she put a hold on the (increasingly hot) courtship. She told him that she needed to dedicate her life to hard work.

She queried an architect but refused to disclose pertinent details, such as how many floors she intended. She told the architect that, "[he] didn't know a ranch-style commercial building from a bomb-shelter." After further insults and accusations, he was hired. The ensuing months did not go very well, as the two differed on the few details that were disclosed by the Termagant. Eventually, she decided to hire a second architect, so that he could be told the pieces of information that the first architect was not allowed to know. The architects argued over everything except the audacity of their boss. The first architect bought a gun. The second architect bought a can of mace. Unfortunately, the first architect shot the second architect when the mace ran out. During the funeral, the Termagant decided that she would construct the building, alone, without the advice of the subject matter experts.

Months went by in the Termagant's basement. Rumors spread that she died from thinking too hard. Others argued that the Termagant died from being too mean. Even the cops were afraid to check. For the most part, her basement was feared by all who held their breaths while passing the dark, thorny front yard. The neighborhood children feared the Termagant's new, bright idea, should she have survived the thinking and being mean. The school did not send a note home, since it was safer that way.

Finally, one weekend, she unraveled the blueprints with her gnarled digits. She laughed a snorting, shrieking-grinding noise that sounded like a hyena being run over with a hand-held lawnmower. Rain bashed against the Termagant's basement window. All that could be seen from the outside, was a cloaked creature in the careless strobe of the ceiling light, which had been in motion for weeks. If one dared, one could see a few test lemons and a pitcher of icy water. It was said that the termagant did not plan on adding sugar to the lemonade.

The whole building a building thing did not work out. She went out on to the sidewalk on the stormiest day since the last she disappeared, holding a rickety table with three legs, dried blood and cigarette burns. She left it on the sidewalk for several hours, knowing that none would touch it. She returned in a new outfit that looked like a dirty doll costume. She brought back a pitcher, censored by electrical tape. It could have been anybody's guess what she was offering. She spent over four hours, as lightning fell around her, rearranging the paper cups. Finally, a customer arrived...