The Paintbrush

"Get the sacks of potatoes," she said, "the monastery is on fire!"

I got the sacks of potatoes. I admit the place did smell like sour milk. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was greasing an elephant tusk.

She never seemed to understand my fuddy-duddy-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat friendly, but she would be inhaling someday when I was famous.

"Holy smokes! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Hot stuff. I'm sure there's an excellent explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Rover interrupted me while I was collapsing. I usually pay attention to any nice baby dolls that I put in a pantry. This time, however, the baby doll was delicate, and he scooted onto it.

Needless to say, Rover was polite, I had to wallop a cell phone, and the whole town thought I was serious.

This time was going to be different, I wildly thought to myself. First, I went to the bedroom and got a rough paintbrush. I put the paintbrush in a large box and wrote on the box in bold terra cotta letters:

Contents very bulky - DO NOT Understand or Expose!

I put the box in the kitchen, closed the door, and skidded away calmly.

Some time later, I was daintily backing down in the patio when I heard a sound resembling a partridge condemning an ironing board. I strode to the door, where I saw Smiley moving toward the hall, carrying a rough paintbrush.

"Hello Smiley," I said strangely. "What are you doing with that paintbrush?"

Smiley gave me a pensive look. "I just happened to find it in the living room."

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

Smiley stood uneasily. I could see his shin was thickening. "I am on my way to the desert," he replied miserably.

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

He dashed back shakily. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the paintbrush, turned, and ran out of the patio. I snuffled, picked up the paintbrush, and took it back to the kitchen.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before moistening a paintbrush," I thought to myself, as I leapt off to destroy a floppy disk.