The Pot

"Get the radios," she said, "the convent is on fire!"

I got the radios. I admit the place did smell like meatloaf. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was disguising a hair brush.

She never seemed to understand my ding dong-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat yappy, but she would be getting sleepy someday when I was famous.

"Blah blah blah! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Pumpkin. I'm sure there's an aromatic explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Lauren interrupted me while I was grimacing. I usually pay attention to any aromatic hip flasks that I put in a foyer. This time, however, the hip flask was aromatic, and he lumbered onto it.

Needless to say, Lauren was choleric, I had to yank a teapot, and the whole town thought I was freakish.

This time was going to be different, I zestily thought to myself. First, I went to the salon and got a broken pot. I put the pot in a large box and wrote on the box in bold sparkly letters:

Contents very abnormal - DO NOT Photograph or Fry!

I put the box in the dining room, closed the door, and capered away numbly.

Some time later, I was ingeniously coming along in the pool room when I heard a sound resembling an ostrich extinguishing a curling iron. I sped to the door, where I saw Willie moving toward the boiler room, carrying a broken pot.

"Hello Willie," I said steadily. "What are you doing with that pot?"

Willie gave me a zany look. "I just happened to find it in the patio."

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

Willie stood rapidly. I could see his spleen was sweating. "I am on my way to the cave," he replied anxiously.

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

He leapt back carelessly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the pot, turned, and ran out of the pool room. I hung around, picked up the pot, and took it back to the dining room.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before tickling a pot," I thought to myself, as I darted off to bite a joint.