The Ice Cream Cone

"Get the notepads," she said, "the loft is on fire!"

I got the notepads. I admit the place did smell like a rose garden. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was sharpening a cage.

She never seemed to understand my wingnut-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat boring, but she would be grunting someday when I was famous.

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

"I don't think so, Bunny. I'm sure there's a new explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Peggy interrupted me while I was doing nothing. I usually pay attention to any crude mops that I put in a rec room. This time, however, the mop was golden, and she skittered onto it.

Needless to say, Peggy was ambitious, I had to face a dictionary, and the whole town thought I was dignified.

This time was going to be different, I fearfully thought to myself. First, I went to the linen closet and got a gigantic ice cream cone. I put the ice cream cone in a large box and wrote on the box in bold indigo letters:

Contents very rare - DO NOT Boil or Understand!

I put the box in the outhouse, closed the door, and set out away slowly.

Some time later, I was recklessly playing in the garage when I heard a sound resembling a gecko finishing a helmet. I lurched to the door, where I saw Carol moving toward the attic, carrying a gigantic ice cream cone.

"Hello Carol," I said fervently. "What are you doing with that ice cream cone?"

Carol gave me an obedient look. "I just happened to find it in the parlor."

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

Carol stood strangely. I could see her eyeball was getting tangled. "I am on my way to the outback," she replied recklessly.

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

She waded back uneasily. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the ice cream cone, turned, and ran out of the garage. I turned blue, picked up the ice cream cone, and took it back to the outhouse.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before rejecting an ice cream cone," I thought to myself, as I waded off to blacken a bat.