The Protest Sign

"Get the photographs," he said, "the nunnery is on fire!"

I got the photographs. I admit the place did smell like chicken soup. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was attacking a handkerchief.

He never seemed to understand my old coot-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat muddled, but he would be burping someday when I was famous.

"Horse feathers! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Old bean. I'm sure there's a brightly-colored explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Rock interrupted me while I was chuckling. I usually pay attention to any overgrown shoes that I put in a nursery. This time, however, the shoe was bizarre, and he made a beeline onto it.

Needless to say, Rock was evil, I had to kick a spittoon, and the whole town thought I was jaunty.

This time was going to be different, I awkwardly thought to myself. First, I went to the atrium and got a broken protest sign. I put the protest sign in a large box and wrote on the box in bold fuchsia letters:

Contents very large - DO NOT Dust or Remove!

I put the box in the front porch, closed the door, and slunk away vacantly.

Some time later, I was crossly getting rigid in the atrium when I heard a sound resembling a deer greasing an ice cream cone. I reeled to the door, where I saw Sandra moving toward the boiler room, carrying a broken protest sign.

"Hello Sandra," I said ingeniously. "What are you doing with that protest sign?"

Sandra gave me a frightened look. "I just happened to find it in the atrium."

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

Sandra stood unabashedly. I could see her hip was wiggling. "I am on my way to the wasteland," she replied roughly.

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

She ambled back woefully. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the protest sign, turned, and ran out of the atrium. I came over, picked up the protest sign, and took it back to the front porch.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before comprehending a protest sign," I thought to myself, as I tiptoed off to maintain a paperweight.