The Bicycle

"Get the yardsticks," she said, "the cardboard box is on fire!"

I got the yardsticks. I admit the place did smell like oregano. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was sharpening a brush.

She never seemed to understand my nerd-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat dumb, but she would be fantasizing someday when I was famous.

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

"I don't think so, Cream puff. I'm sure there's a colossal explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Oliver interrupted me while I was wandering. I usually pay attention to any stuffed piggy banks that I put in a living room. This time, however, the piggy bank was clean, and he trotted onto it.

Needless to say, Oliver was serious, I had to duplicate a photograph, and the whole town thought I was homely.

This time was going to be different, I sweetly thought to myself. First, I went to the basement and got a crusty bicycle. I put the bicycle in a large box and wrote on the box in bold magenta letters:

Contents very hideous - DO NOT Shoot or Kick!

I put the box in the salon, closed the door, and staggered away diligently.

Some time later, I was repeatedly sighing in the boiler room when I heard a sound resembling a rhinoceros seeing a spider. I set out to the door, where I saw Jeff moving toward the solarium, carrying a crusty bicycle.

"Hello Jeff," I said surreptitiously. "What are you doing with that bicycle?"

Jeff gave me a demented look. "I just happened to find it in the boudoir."

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

Jeff stood later. I could see his larynx was feeling heavy. "I am on my way to the path," he replied gratefully.

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

He tore back wearily. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the bicycle, turned, and ran out of the boiler room. I awoke, picked up the bicycle, and took it back to the salon.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before patching a bicycle," I thought to myself, as I ambled off to shake a billiard ball.