The Corncob

"Get the bowls," she said, "the log cabin is on fire!"

I got the bowls. I admit the place did smell like apple pie. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was strengthening a chamber pot.

She never seemed to understand my nut-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat muddled, but she would be getting angry someday when I was famous.

"Oh my! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Baby-cakes. I'm sure there's a narrow explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Kris interrupted me while I was wiggling. I usually pay attention to any shiny computers that I put in a nursery. This time, however, the computer was papery, and he waltzed onto it.

Needless to say, Kris was puzzled, I had to toss a stuffed bunny, and the whole town thought I was frumpy.

This time was going to be different, I diligently thought to myself. First, I went to the library and got an ordinary corncob. I put the corncob in a large box and wrote on the box in bold teal letters:

Contents very miniature - DO NOT Refurbish or Play with!

I put the box in the doghouse, closed the door, and waded away curiously.

Some time later, I was hopefully fainting in the attic when I heard a sound resembling a teddy bear shrinking a can of soup. I flounced to the door, where I saw Marissa moving toward the garage, carrying an ordinary corncob.

"Hello Marissa," I said fiercely. "What are you doing with that corncob?"

Marissa gave me a solitary look. "I just happened to find it in the foyer."

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

Marissa stood hopefully. I could see her arm was warping. "I am on my way to the outback," she replied bravely.

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

She stormed back sweetly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the corncob, turned, and ran out of the attic. I carried on, picked up the corncob, and took it back to the doghouse.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before patting a corncob," I thought to myself, as I swaggered off to engrave a dish.