Frisbee and the Squirrel

 Frisbee and the Squirrel

 

It started as a brilliant idea—at least it seemed brilliant at the time. Bill and I were hanging out in the park, sweating like crazy under the Sacramento afternoon sun, when we decided to kick things up a notch. Tossing a regular frisbee back and forth? Too easy. Blindfolded frisbee? Now we were talking.

“I’ll go first!” Bill declared, way too confidently for someone who couldn’t throw straight on a good day, let alone blindfolded.

“Alright, man, just aim for my voice!” I said, laughing as I tied the bandana around my own eyes. I spun around a few times to make it interesting, trying to get my bearings, but everything felt off-balance in the best possible way.

From the first throw, I should’ve known how this would go. I heard the frisbee slice through the air, and then… BAM! Right into my knee. I yelped and toppled backward, hitting the ground hard, but I couldn’t stop laughing. The whole thing was ridiculous.

“Man, that was so close! I could feel the air move,” I shouted between fits of laughter.

Bill lifted his blindfold and looked down at me, squinting like I was speaking another language. “Close? It hit you in the leg.”

He wasn’t wrong, but I didn’t care. This was the most fun we’d had all week. Besides, we were just warming up. "Alright, your turn again," I said, getting to my feet and dusting off the grass.

Bill took the frisbee, put his blindfold back on, and lined up like he was preparing for some kind of Olympic event. I could barely contain my laughter. “You got this!” I called out, half-meaning it. He swung his arm back and let it rip. The frisbee sailed high… for a second, then immediately took a sharp left and disappeared into the pond with a sad little plop.

I doubled over. “Man, that was incredible. Truly,” I said between laughs, trying to catch my breath. But then it hit me—we only brought one frisbee. "Well, I guess you’re going in after it.”

Bill groaned and pulled off his blindfold, looking at the pond like it had personally wronged him. “You’ve gotta be kidding me. That pond smells !”

“You threw it,” I shrugged, still grinning. Rules are rules.

Bill stood there for a moment, staring at the water with this tragic look on his face. I was about to say something to egg him on when he stopped and looked up into the tree. There was this squirrel just staring at us—like, really giving us the side-eye.

I squinted up at it too. “Do you think that squirrel’s judging us?” I asked, half-joking.

Bill, ever the optimist, shook his head. “No way. Squirrels don’t judge.”

But I wasn’t so sure. The little guy looked real disappointed in us. And honestly? I kind of got it.

Bill finally waded into the gross, murky water, grumbling the whole time. I stood at the edge, trying to keep my balance while laughing hysterically. By the time he fished out the frisbee, I swear the squirrel was still watching us, probably thinking, These two are the worst excuses for humans I’ve ever seen.

Bill splashed out of the pond, soggy and smelling like a mix of pond water and bad decisions. “This is your fault,” he grumbled.

I just grinned. “Totally worth it.”

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