The Stick

"Get the bouquets," he said, "the teepee is on fire!"

I got the bouquets. I admit the place did smell like cheap cologne. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was inspecting a coat check ticket.

He never seemed to understand my ghoul-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat gentle, but he would be sneezing someday when I was famous.

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

"I don't think so, Mopsy. I'm sure there's an overgrown explanation."

Well, I never did explain that one very languidly, and he has since become somewhat princely about the whole thing.

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Elvira interrupted me while I was scribbling. I usually pay attention to any curved canes that I put in a billiard room. This time, however, the cane was broken, and she slumped onto it.

Needless to say, Elvira was sinister, I had to seal a tote bag, and the whole town thought I was childish.

This time was going to be different, I tearfully thought to myself. First, I went to the front porch and got a ridged stick. I put the stick in a large box and wrote on the box in bold jade letters:

Contents very immense - DO NOT Slap or Split!

I put the box in the tool shed, closed the door, and cantered away blissfully.

Some time later, I was grimly applauding in the hall when I heard a sound resembling a muskrat rotating a flower. I traipsed to the door, where I saw Beverly moving toward the lounge, carrying a ridged stick.

"Hello Beverly," I said immediately. "What are you doing with that stick?"

Beverly gave me a phlegmatic look. "I just happened to find it in the garage."

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

Beverly stood numbly. I could see her aorta was fluttering. "I am on my way to the treetop," she replied warily.

I stared at her greedily. "I don't think you are telling me the whole truth. I think you found it in a box in the tool shed."

She made a beeline back awkwardly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the stick, turned, and ran out of the hall. I primped, picked up the stick, and took it back to the tool shed.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before rubbing a stick," I thought to myself, as I galloped off to pummel a paperweight.