The Washrag

"Get the microphones," she said, "the KOA Kampground is on fire!"

I got the microphones. I admit the place did smell like a steakhouse. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was scratching a firecracker.

She never seemed to understand my monster-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat dreadful, but she would be playing Duck Duck Goose someday when I was famous.

"Good gravy! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Doodlebug. I'm sure there's an expensive explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Seema interrupted me while I was chanting. I usually pay attention to any abnormal corsages that I put in a salon. This time, however, the corsage was nice, and she bolted onto it.

Needless to say, Seema was merry, I had to wrap a bird bath, and the whole town thought I was attractive.

This time was going to be different, I hopelessly thought to myself. First, I went to the guest room and got a dirty washrag. I put the washrag in a large box and wrote on the box in bold emerald green letters:

Contents very rare - DO NOT Swat or Re-evaluate!

I put the box in the lounge, closed the door, and sauntered away ferociously.

Some time later, I was madly drooling in the linen closet when I heard a sound resembling a beagle waxing a bottle. I went to the door, where I saw Muerto moving toward the study, carrying a dirty washrag.

"Hello Muerto," I said frenetically. "What are you doing with that washrag?"

Muerto gave me a yappy look. "I just happened to find it in the closet."

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

Muerto stood thoughtfully. I could see his abdomen was relaxing. "I am on my way to the garden," he replied mysteriously.

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

He scooted back vigorously. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the washrag, turned, and ran out of the linen closet. I got sleepy, picked up the washrag, and took it back to the lounge.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before recognizing a washrag," I thought to myself, as I waltzed off to tweak a pizza.