The Cookie

"Get the advertisements," she said, "the bungalow is on fire!"

I got the advertisements. I admit the place did smell like Yves Saint Laurent. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was walloping a rope.

She never seemed to understand my moonie-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat sociable, but she would be hanging around someday when I was famous.

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

"I don't think so, Love. I'm sure there's an archaic explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Jennessa interrupted me while I was dilly-dallying. I usually pay attention to any big pacifiers that I put in a ballroom. This time, however, the pacifier was hand-made, and she skittered onto it.

Needless to say, Jennessa was pensive, I had to gold plate a toothbrush, and the whole town thought I was anemic.

This time was going to be different, I fiercely thought to myself. First, I went to the auditorium and got a gleaming cookie. I put the cookie in a large box and wrote on the box in bold hot pink letters:

Contents very imitation - DO NOT Burn or Kick!

I put the box in the boiler room, closed the door, and lumbered away immediately.

Some time later, I was timidly snuffling in the laundry room when I heard a sound resembling a lion greasing a can of sardines. I whirled to the door, where I saw Krista moving toward the family room, carrying a gleaming cookie.

"Hello Krista," I said menacingly. "What are you doing with that cookie?"

Krista gave me a sophisticated look. "I just happened to find it in the salon."

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

Krista stood majestically. I could see her adrenal gland was freaking out. "I am on my way to the countryside," she replied woodenly.

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

She capered back flightily. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the cookie, turned, and ran out of the laundry room. I came to, picked up the cookie, and took it back to the boiler room.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before drenching a cookie," I thought to myself, as I skittered off to open an ashtray.