E
ven though his mother blabbed on and on while barely taking a breath, all Butch could hear was the sound of his father chewing. He chewed louder than anybody he knew. The constant slurping, smacking, and crunching triggered a growing spike of anger. It hadn’t always been this bad. Started as mild annoyance when Butch was around twelve years old. The sound of chewing made him uncomfortable and anxious. But over time, his response had developed into a simmering rage.
“This is the last year I’m planning the Easter parade,” Maggie announced. “It’s too much work. And not only that, nobody ever bothers to show a little gratitude. Not even a single thank-you.”
“You say this every year,” Wade mumbled mid-chew.
Butch stared at his father, who methodically chomped on an ear of corn, from one
