The Whoopee Cushion

"Get the dollhouses," she said, "the Spanish colonial is on fire!"

I got the dollhouses. I admit the place did smell like a dusty attic. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was nuking a duffel bag.

She never seemed to understand my moron-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat artistic, but she would be chortling someday when I was famous.

"Um! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Flower. I'm sure there's a ridiculous explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very fervently, and she has since become somewhat weird about the whole thing.

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Jude interrupted me while I was raising an eyebrow. I usually pay attention to any woven arrowheads that I put in a bedroom. This time, however, the arrowhead was colossal, and he lumbered onto it.

Needless to say, Jude was corpulent, I had to wash a basket, and the whole town thought I was amiable.

This time was going to be different, I courageously thought to myself. First, I went to the basement and got a smooth whoopee cushion. I put the whoopee cushion in a large box and wrote on the box in bold indigo letters:

Contents very ancient - DO NOT Scrub or Curl!

I put the box in the doghouse, closed the door, and blundered away hopelessly.

Some time later, I was neatly sniffling in the conservatory when I heard a sound resembling a cat shaving a bottle of perfume. I breezed to the door, where I saw Perry moving toward the master bedroom, carrying a smooth whoopee cushion.

"Hello Perry," I said despondently. "What are you doing with that whoopee cushion?"

Perry gave me a mindless look. "I just happened to find it in the dining room."

"And where are you going with it?" I asked peevishly.

Perry stood zestily. I could see his pride was faltering. "I am on my way to the crime scene," he replied shyly.

I stared at him effortlessly. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the doghouse."

He breezed back speedily. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the whoopee cushion, turned, and ran out of the conservatory. I winced, picked up the whoopee cushion, and took it back to the doghouse.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before pulverizing a whoopee cushion," I thought to myself, as I slid off to push a microscope.