Palermo and the Potluck

One night, Palermo was all snuggled up in his bed and reading a book by Steven Barnes. As sleep was beginning to overcome him, his glazed eyes came upon a paragraph describing what the characters were having for dinner.

"Mmm...dinner..." he murmered as he let the book slip from his hands. He wrapped himself up in the blue, velvet-soft comforter with the dolphins on it. His eyes closed and he let himself slip off into the sunless realm of sleep.

"Food?!" he exclaimed as his eyes snapped open. Was tomorrow the potluck at work? Oh, no!

He leaped out of his downy haven and ran wildly to the kitchen. He searched frantically for something that he could throw together in time for the next day.

His sister, Barbara, noticed him running back and forth between the two refrigerators. She asked him what he was doing.

Palermo had an idea.

* * * *

Palermo strutted into work the next morning with a delightful, custard commonly known as flan. It was a traditional desert from the country of Pexico, where his parents where from.

He had commissioned his sister to make it for him. She had been shrewd, however. She could tell that he was desperate and gouged him appropriately, like any good sister would.

So, ten dollars poorer and one flan richer, Palermo put the flan in the fridge at work and sat down at his desk. "So, what did you bring for the potluck?" he asked his friend Brandon.

Brandon looked confused. "You mean the potluck next Wednesday?"

"Yes," replied Palermo, "Yes, that's exactly what I mean."