Nobody in the neighborhood ever expected a quiet morning when Cutis was around. The rooster could crow on time, the sun could rise politely, and the street could look calm—but if Cutis had woken up, something funny was bound to happen. On this particular day, the funny thing started so small that no one noticed it at first… not even Cutis himself.
It began with a smell.
A warm, sweet, slightly smoky smell floated through the air just as Cutis stepped out of the house, stretching his arms and yawning like a hero who didn’t yet know he was about to star in a comedy. His stomach made a sound that could only be described as dramatic. Cutis sniffed again.
“Food?” he whispered, eyes lighting up.
Now, Cutis had many talents—curiosity, confidence, and an almost magical ability to get into trouble—but patience was not one of them. Instead of checking the kitchen like a normal person, he followed the smell straight down the street, past the neighbor’s fence, around a corner, and directly toward the local market.
That’s when the funny thing truly began.
At the market entrance stood a large sign that read: “DO NOT TOUCH – SPECIAL EVENT PREPARATION.” Cutis read it carefully, nodded seriously… and walked right past it.
Behind the sign was a long table covered with cloths. Under those cloths were trays and trays of snacks prepared for a community celebration later that afternoon. Sticky rice cakes, grilled bananas, sweet dumplings, and one very special dish sitting proudly in the middle.
Cutis’s eyes widened.
“Just one bite,” he told himself. “For research.”
He lifted the corner of the cloth and froze. The dish wasn’t just food—it was decorated. Flowers made of carrot, herbs shaped like stars, and a shiny glaze that reflected his own shocked face.
Cutis leaned closer.
That was his mistake.
His foot caught on the edge of the cloth. Time slowed. Cutis flailed his arms like a confused bird, knocking over a basket of bananas, which rolled away dramatically. He tried to regain balance, slipped again, and—plop!—landed right in front of the table.
Miraculously, the food survived.
Cutis did not.
He stood up covered in flour, banana strings, and what might have been coconut cream. A nearby vendor stared at him, mouth open.
“Uh,” Cutis said, smiling awkwardly. “Good morning?”
The vendor blinked. Then laughed. Loudly.
Within seconds, the laughter spread. People gathered. Someone pointed. Someone else started filming. Cutis, realizing escape was impossible, decided to lean into it.
He bowed.
“Yes, yes,” he announced. “This is the new dance. Very modern.”
He tried to demonstrate, slipping again and accidentally inventing a move that looked like a mix between sweeping the floor and dodging invisible bees. The crowd roared with laughter.
But the funniest part hadn’t happened yet.
As Cutis finished his “dance,” he felt something tugging at his leg. He looked down and screamed—not in fear, but in pure shock.
A goat.
Not just any goat. The grumpiest goat in the market, known for stealing hats and chasing children, had latched onto Cutis’s pant leg with its teeth.
“Hey! Hey! That’s not food!” Cutis protested, hopping on one foot.
The goat disagreed.
Cutis hopped faster. The goat hopped too. Together, they formed the strangest parade the market had ever seen. People laughed so hard they had to sit down. Someone dropped a bag of peanuts. Someone else cried tears of joy.
“Let go!” Cutis pleaded.
The goat shook its head.
In desperation, Cutis reached into his pocket and pulled out the only thing he had—half a rice cracker from yesterday. He held it out like a peace offering.
The goat paused.
Sniffed.
Then released the pant leg and snatched the cracker, trotting away triumphantly.
Cutis collapsed onto a stool, panting. His pants were torn. His pride slightly bruised. His hair looked like it had been styled by a storm.
The crowd applauded.
“Encore!” someone shouted.
Cutis raised a finger. “No goats next time.”
Just when he thought the moment had passed, the event organizer approached him with a wide grin.
“You,” she said, pointing at Cutis, “are now part of the show.”
“What?” Cutis asked.
She handed him a microphone. “You’ve made everyone laugh more in ten minutes than our planned entertainment all afternoon.”
Before Cutis could refuse, he was pushed gently onto a small stage. Music started playing. Someone placed a silly hat on his head. Another person gave him a fake mustache.
Cutis looked at the crowd. They looked back, expectant and smiling.
And something clicked.
He shrugged. “Alright then.”
What followed was twenty minutes of pure chaos and joy. Cutis told exaggerated stories about the goat (“It had personal beef with me”), reenacted his fall in slow motion, and invited kids from the crowd to copy his “banana-slip dance.”
Even the grumpy goat returned, sitting calmly near the stage like a retired actor watching his replacement.
By the time the show ended, Cutis was exhausted—but happy. The organizer paid him with food, applause, and a promise that he was welcome anytime.
As Cutis walked home, carrying a bag of snacks and limping slightly, he laughed to himself.
“All this,” he said aloud, “because I followed a smell.”
Later that evening, sitting with family and retelling the story for the fifth time, Cutis added extra details—bigger slips, fiercer goats, louder cheers. Everyone laughed again, even though they’d heard it already.
And that’s when Cutis realized the funniest thing that happened to him that day wasn’t the fall, the goat, or the accidental performance.
It was this:
He’d gone out looking for a bite of food… and come back with a story everyone would remember.
And knowing Cutis, it definitely wouldn’t be the last one. 😄
