Delicious Ann and the Magic Ham (Prose...I'm ashamed)

Not a day passed that the Grinsleys didn’t spend time in the kitchen. Annabelle Grinsley, the youngest, slaved all day at the stove to produce the most delicious meals. Harvey Grinsley was a chef by trade, and when he went to work, all the men seethed with jealousy and all the women flocked like so many slutty sheep. His wife, Cheryl Sunday-Grinsley, decided to open her own confectionary shop downtown. She painted it blue all around: chairs, counters, windows, doors. Everything was blue. Of course, the night did not bode well for the Grinsleys. Annabelle Grinsley, the oldest, came home from college each night and practiced her guitar for two hours, then she did her homework from five to seven. At seven-thirty, Ann started preparing the food. Her parents would come home exhausted and incorrigible. They would dirty the table and no thanks was heard. This was life in the Grinsley house. One day, Annabelle, the middle child, got a call from her school. “You don’t have to come in today!” the message said. Annabelle hated asking questions. She just assumed a fire had consumed the East Wing and continued her routine. Around three, when she was usually getting home from the University, Ann Grinsley was done with EVERYTHING—meals were cooked, homework was done, guitar was shredded to bits. So she dusted off her old bike in the garage, filled the tires, and headed down to the old hobo hangout by the pond. She figured they might want some blankets, so she collected her old blanket stash from the attic and brought it with her. In all of this, she wrapped several units of canned goods because she wasn’t dumb. Annabelle rode and rode, until her legs were tired and the hobos were within earshot. “I have food and blankets for hobos and those on their way!” she exclaimed. The hobos were grateful, so they took her offerings. They just peered up with those hobo eyes and she knew they meant well. But one hobo decided that he was just crazy enough to try something incredible. This hobo-man of sixty-four sized up young Annabelle and hurled a most peculiar steely object at her feet. “It’s for ya famla!” it yelled. Ann smiled because she knew he was a goner, but also because she had never received any gifts before. During Christmas, her parents would take belongings away and blender them. Anyways, Ms. Grinsley picked up the canned ham and examined it. She smelled it and rubbed it down the back of her leg to see if it was healthy ham. It was. So she took it with her and waved goodbye. “I hope to see you again next year, because Winter kills you guys easily!” Annabelle laughed. When she got home, Harvey and Cheryl had stern looks on their faces and stern, pointed fingers. They had obviously been practicing for her arrival. When Annabelle couldn’t sufficiently explain her absence in nine words or less, they sent her up to the roof to think about what they’d done to her. As she sang to the ham, Annabelle noticed it was not covered with aluminum, but rather with a more wooden substance…wood. She extracted the ham from it’s casing and took a bite. Nothing happened. It was just ham.