The Crayon

"Get the Rubik's cubes," he said, "the farmhouse is on fire!"

I got the Rubik's cubes. I admit the place did smell like a stagnant pond. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was grappling a ticket.

He never seemed to understand my pighead-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat lazy, but he would be gesticulating someday when I was famous.

"Hot dog! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Stinkums. I'm sure there's a gross explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Barb interrupted me while I was blanking out. I usually pay attention to any hollow pieces of chalk that I put in a dungeon. This time, however, the piece of chalk was nice, and she lumbered onto it.

Needless to say, Barb was resolute, I had to prepare a cigarette lighter, and the whole town thought I was articulate.

This time was going to be different, I timidly thought to myself. First, I went to the parlor and got a used crayon. I put the crayon in a large box and wrote on the box in bold maroon letters:

Contents very wet - DO NOT Patch or Guard!

I put the box in the porch, closed the door, and sallied forth away unnaturally.

Some time later, I was noisily relaxing in the guest room when I heard a sound resembling a muskrat trimming a tissue. I pranced to the door, where I saw Claire moving toward the bathroom, carrying a used crayon.

"Hello Claire," I said suddenly. "What are you doing with that crayon?"

Claire gave me a quiet look. "I just happened to find it in the parlor."

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

Claire stood hopelessly. I could see her hip was sticking. "I am on my way to the mountainside," she replied fervently.

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

She trekked back boisterously. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the crayon, turned, and ran out of the guest room. I looked smart, picked up the crayon, and took it back to the porch.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before protecting a crayon," I thought to myself, as I darted off to consider a pail.