Whitney's CD

She placed those lemonade filled cups neatly along the small, plastic table.
Just so.
Just right.
To appeal to any customers that might drive, or walk, by at any moment.
Thirsty after a long day at work.
Or a long day somewhere.
They'd see her, standing behind the brightly colored table, on the corner.
Offering cups full of sweet, yet tart, cold drinks.
For a small price.

She didn't realize that the CD she had placed on the table, to be sold to the highest bidder, was not a good idea, until her mother pointed that fact out.

"What's this?" her mother asked.
"A lemonade stand," the girl said, with a duh! tone in her voice.
"No. This?" she said, pointing to Whitney's CD. Whitney Houston, that is.
"Oh, I was going to sell it." the girl said, eyes wide.

Her mother quickly grabbed the music disk, held it close to her chest. And walked back towards the house.

"Sorry, Mom! I didn't think you'd care. Sorry!"
"I care," she said, smiling at her daughter. "I will bring out some cookies for you to sell instead."

Minutes later, Whitney's voice could be heard blaring through the kitchen window.
Her mom danced around while singing along.
With Whitney.
While gathering cookies.
Happy that the highest bidder never showed up.