A Grumpy Observer

Mr. Grumbles, a man whose frown seemed permanently etched into his face like a stubborn stain, stood behind a particularly large rhododendron bush. Its waxy leaves, usually a vibrant green, seemed to droop in sympathy with his mood. He clutched his clipboard, its edges sharp enough to cut through butter, and peered out at the spectacle unfolding on the main lawn. His spectacles, perched precariously on the end of his nose, magnified the scene, making it all the more… *annoying*.

There was Pinky, that ridiculous pink… *thing*. She was doing a little jig, her stubby arms flailing with an alarming lack of grace. Around her, a gaggle of children, their faces alight with an almost alarming level of excitement, were practically vibrating with glee. They were clapping, they were squealing, they were *laughing*. It was a cacophony of joy, a sound so foreign to the usual hushed reverence of his zoo that it made Mr. Grumbles’ ears twitch.

He could see the children pointing, their tiny fingers jabbing the air in the direction of… what was it now? Ah, yes, the “Sparkle-Snout Floof.” He remembered Pinky’s description of it: a creature that smelled like bubblegum and sneezed glitter. Glitter! In his zoo! The very thought sent a shiver of revulsion down his spine. His zoo was a place of order, of scientific precision, of *proper* animals. Lions that roared, elephants that trumpeted, penguins that… well, that waddled. Not… *floofs* that sneezed confectionery.