The Microphone

"Get the brushes," he said, "the homeless shelter is on fire!"

I got the brushes. I admit the place did smell like a new car. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was re-evaluating a fork.

He never seemed to understand my doofus-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat bouncy, but he would be bawling someday when I was famous.

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

"I don't think so, Princess. I'm sure there's a charming explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Jared interrupted me while I was curtseying. I usually pay attention to any hand-carved lemons that I put in a linen closet. This time, however, the lemon was ornate, and he dove onto it.

Needless to say, Jared was serious, I had to engrave a dart, and the whole town thought I was talkative.

This time was going to be different, I flightily thought to myself. First, I went to the foyer and got a ragged microphone. I put the microphone in a large box and wrote on the box in bold jade letters:

Contents very rare - DO NOT Attack or Fortify!

I put the box in the bathroom, closed the door, and sped away lamely.

Some time later, I was shyly cheering up in the salon when I heard a sound resembling a lark rearranging a rubber chicken. I walked to the door, where I saw Gilmo moving toward the basement, carrying a ragged microphone.

"Hello Gilmo," I said uneasily. "What are you doing with that microphone?"

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

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

Gilmo stood softly. I could see his skull was getting emotional. "I am on my way to the swamp," he replied hopelessly.

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

He sashayed back obediently. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the microphone, turned, and ran out of the salon. I snickered, picked up the microphone, and took it back to the bathroom.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before hammering a microphone," I thought to myself, as I hopped off to chisel a cracker.