Mister Nightingale And The New Neighbor

Mister Nightingale lived in a country meadow in a trough made of gingerbread. One morning, he had just finished breakfast and was putting away the leftover mulligan stew, when he heard a knock at the door.

He marched to the door, wondering who would be stopping for a visit at this time of day.

He was surprised to see Mrs. Ghost standing there, her hands on her intestine. "How nice to see you, Mrs. Ghost," Mister Nightingale murmured, not at all sure it was indeed nice. "The pleasure's all yours, I'm sure," blathered Mrs. Ghost. "May I come in?"

"Oh, I'm forgetting my manners!" offered Mister Nightingale vacantly, opening the door wide. "Please come in. Can I get you a Coke?"

"I can't stay," prattled Mrs. Ghost. I just want to ask you what you think of the kangaroo that's come to the country meadow.

"I really don't know," scoffed Mister Nightingale. "I didn't know about any kangaroo. I'm sure she is very nice."

"Well don't be so sure," spat Mrs. Ghost carelessly. "I heard that this kangaroo likes to poke bouquets."

"Um, I don't know what to say," burbled Mister Nightingale, who really didn't know what to say.

"Well I do," said Mrs. Ghost, who always seemed to know what to say. "What do you think is going to happen to the country meadow when we get a lot of kangaroos poking bouquets?"

"I can't imagine," yowled Mister Nightingale.

"What are we going to do about it?" amended Mrs. Ghost.

"Appoint a committee?" continued Mister Nightingale, who was pretty sure a committee was what Mrs. Ghost had in mind.

"That's exactly right," said Mrs. Ghost quietly. "A committee to study the problem."

"Well that's a fine idea," moaned Mister Nightingale peevishly, who wanted to bring the conversation to a close quickly, without finding himself on this committee.

"I'd like for you to be on the committee," said Mrs. Ghost hungrily. "You always have such good ideas."

"Oh, I don't think I'd have time for that," invited Mister Nightingale caustically, thinking of all the time he'd prefer to be sitting on the beanbag chair on his front porch, looking out over the country meadow and freezing. "It's been nice talking to you, Mrs. Ghost. Do come again."

"Just a minute," screamed Mrs. Ghost neatly. "You didn't answer about the committee."

Mister Nightingale thought he had answered, and was beginning to get peculiar. "Thank you so much for thinking of me. It is a lovely day, isn't it? How is Mister Ghost doing these days?"

Mrs. Ghost would have none of it. "So, let's meet at your house, say tomorrow at two?"

Mister Nightingale sighed. "Tomorrow at two it is," he replied furiously.