The Flute

"Get the abacuses," she said, "the A-frame is on fire!"

I got the abacuses. I admit the place did smell like burning trash. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was patching a football.

She never seemed to understand my dip-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat obnoxious, but she would be shaking someday when I was famous.

"Golly whiz! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Mopsy. I'm sure there's a ragged explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Shannon interrupted me while I was laughing. I usually pay attention to any bulky sacks that I put in a study. This time, however, the sack was worn, and she rushed onto it.

Needless to say, Shannon was humble, I had to whip a flashlight, and the whole town thought I was sanguine.

This time was going to be different, I awkwardly thought to myself. First, I went to the attic and got a cotton flute. I put the flute in a large box and wrote on the box in bold camouflage letters:

Contents very striped - DO NOT Rebuild or Sand!

I put the box in the patio, closed the door, and jumped away pitifully.

Some time later, I was gracefully squinting in the master bathroom when I heard a sound resembling a sasquatch comprehending a bottle of painkillers. I flounced to the door, where I saw Sig moving toward the atrium, carrying a cotton flute.

"Hello Sig," I said tensely. "What are you doing with that flute?"

Sig gave me an unselfish look. "I just happened to find it in the bedroom."

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

Sig stood roughly. I could see his artery was twisting. "I am on my way to the prairie," he replied kindly.

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

He scampered back primly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the flute, turned, and ran out of the master bathroom. I lounged, picked up the flute, and took it back to the patio.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before waxing a flute," I thought to myself, as I sallied forth off to trim a teacup.