Mr. Putin
Who is no longer president. Perhaps she'll visit Mr. Medvedev soon.
Title: A Cupcake For You...
Rating: K
Summary: Everyone deserves a cupcake on their birthday, and world leaders, mad composers, and has-been pop stars are no exception. One little girl defies the laws of time and space on her mission to make sure the people of the planet get their deserved cupcake.
The girl returned, searching the streets of Russia this time. She knew he bought breakfast here everyday, and today would be no exception. Now all she had to do was find him. And then, catching sight of him in the crowd, she ran for him, dodging innocent Russian citizens, who to her, were obstacles that might squash her precious gift. And then what would she give him? Thankfully she had a backup fruitcake left over from Christmas, but that was never as fun as a cupcake to receive. Especially when it was two years old and could easily be used as a weapon.
“Mr. Putin!” she called. “Mr. Putin!” He turned, searching the crowd for the voice calling his name. A breathless girl nearly bowled him over, but straightened quickly, with a “Happy birthday Mr. Putin!” She held something out for him-a brown frosted cupcake, painstakingly detailed with the KGB crest. That took absolutely forever to make.
He took the cupcake from her with a polite thank you, and was about to smile but figured, why bother? It never looked sincere. Rather, it seldom was sincere. He began to walk away, figuring the girl would just walk away having fulfilled her mission, but to his surprise-and utter dismay-she followed him.
“Can I walk with you to work?” she asked.
“Don’t you have to be school?”
“No. Are you excited?”
“Why would I be?” he asked on a deep, deep sigh. Just when he’d gotten everyone he knew to forget his birthday…this girl came along.
“It’s your birthday! You should be excited.”
“Why would I be excited to get older?”
“Because you get cake! Or a cupcake, in this case. And you get presents.”
“I don’t get presents at this age.” The girl gasped, and he figured that he probably shouldn’t have revealed the truth to her like that. Oh well. It was her problem.
“So how are you? Are you a little happy?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Nothing special happened.” She sighed in frustration, and Mr. Putin quickened his pace, hoping that her impatience with him would make her go away.
No such luck.
“Do you get off early? Me German friend didn’t. And he was the President, so he could’ve.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“There’s work to be done.”
“More important than your birthday?” He glanced down at her out of the corner of her eye-she was skipping, trying to keep up.
“It’s helping people. It’s helping the country. It’s more important than my birthday.”
“Yeah, that’s what he said. Only nicer.”
“Who was he?”
“Just a German friend,” she replied nonchalantly. “You’ve probably heard of him. At some point. But he’s no one special. Have you ever gotten a cupcake on your birthday before?”
“When I was a kid,” he answered.
“Did it make you feel special?”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“I was a kid. I didn’t think about it.”
“Oh. That makes sense. By then, Mr. Putin!” she said, skipping away when they’d reached his building. He didn’t respond, just showed the security guard his badge and ignoring the guards odd look fired at the cupcake.
---------------
The girl skipped back to Mr. Putin’s office that afternoon, thinking that he needed another visit. Mr. Hitler had been kinder, and Mr. Putin needed more cheering up, in her opinion.
She was skipping by, and at her feet was her cupcake, mauled after having flown out the window. She peered at it for a moment before taking out her agenda and scribbling a note while muttering solemnly, “I guess he’s a vanilla person.”
Title: A Cupcake For You...
Rating: K
Summary: Everyone deserves a cupcake on their birthday, and world leaders, mad composers, and has-been pop stars are no exception. One little girl defies the laws of time and space on her mission to make sure the people of the planet get their deserved cupcake.
The girl returned, searching the streets of Russia this time. She knew he bought breakfast here everyday, and today would be no exception. Now all she had to do was find him. And then, catching sight of him in the crowd, she ran for him, dodging innocent Russian citizens, who to her, were obstacles that might squash her precious gift. And then what would she give him? Thankfully she had a backup fruitcake left over from Christmas, but that was never as fun as a cupcake to receive. Especially when it was two years old and could easily be used as a weapon.
“Mr. Putin!” she called. “Mr. Putin!” He turned, searching the crowd for the voice calling his name. A breathless girl nearly bowled him over, but straightened quickly, with a “Happy birthday Mr. Putin!” She held something out for him-a brown frosted cupcake, painstakingly detailed with the KGB crest. That took absolutely forever to make.
He took the cupcake from her with a polite thank you, and was about to smile but figured, why bother? It never looked sincere. Rather, it seldom was sincere. He began to walk away, figuring the girl would just walk away having fulfilled her mission, but to his surprise-and utter dismay-she followed him.
“Can I walk with you to work?” she asked.
“Don’t you have to be school?”
“No. Are you excited?”
“Why would I be?” he asked on a deep, deep sigh. Just when he’d gotten everyone he knew to forget his birthday…this girl came along.
“It’s your birthday! You should be excited.”
“Why would I be excited to get older?”
“Because you get cake! Or a cupcake, in this case. And you get presents.”
“I don’t get presents at this age.” The girl gasped, and he figured that he probably shouldn’t have revealed the truth to her like that. Oh well. It was her problem.
“So how are you? Are you a little happy?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Nothing special happened.” She sighed in frustration, and Mr. Putin quickened his pace, hoping that her impatience with him would make her go away.
No such luck.
“Do you get off early? Me German friend didn’t. And he was the President, so he could’ve.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“There’s work to be done.”
“More important than your birthday?” He glanced down at her out of the corner of her eye-she was skipping, trying to keep up.
“It’s helping people. It’s helping the country. It’s more important than my birthday.”
“Yeah, that’s what he said. Only nicer.”
“Who was he?”
“Just a German friend,” she replied nonchalantly. “You’ve probably heard of him. At some point. But he’s no one special. Have you ever gotten a cupcake on your birthday before?”
“When I was a kid,” he answered.
“Did it make you feel special?”
“No.”
“No? Why not?”
“I was a kid. I didn’t think about it.”
“Oh. That makes sense. By then, Mr. Putin!” she said, skipping away when they’d reached his building. He didn’t respond, just showed the security guard his badge and ignoring the guards odd look fired at the cupcake.
---------------
The girl skipped back to Mr. Putin’s office that afternoon, thinking that he needed another visit. Mr. Hitler had been kinder, and Mr. Putin needed more cheering up, in her opinion.
She was skipping by, and at her feet was her cupcake, mauled after having flown out the window. She peered at it for a moment before taking out her agenda and scribbling a note while muttering solemnly, “I guess he’s a vanilla person.”