L is for Losers get the Last Laugh

“Finders keepers, losers weepers,” Mike said, making full use of his four inch height advantage by holding my new baseball mitt just out of my reach.

    “I didn’t lose it,” I grunted as I attempted to swat it down. It wasn’t working.

    “Well I say you did, so you did,” Mike retorted, standing on his toes when I started jumping.  

    “Enough Mike. Give it back.”

    “Or what?”

    I came real close to breaking a cardinal rule, I almost threatened to tell mom. Mike saw enough in my eyes to suspect as much. He glared defiantly down at me.

    “Fine, keep the stupid mitt; I don’t care,” I said and turned and stomped towards the house.

    Mom was in the kitchen, making our sandwiches for lunch.

    She called after me as I headed up the stairs, “You didn’t take that new mitt outside did you?”

    I swallowed hard. “No-why?”

    “We have to take it back to the store. Your dad told me we bought you a girl’s one by accident. Didn’t you notice the princess crown on the inside?”

    “That’s okay,” I called back, careful to keep the laugh in. “I’ll just use Mike’s old one.”