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The Comb

comb

"Get the pop bottles," he said, "the wigwam is on fire!"

I got the pop bottles. I admit the place did smell like new mown hay. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was controlling a chess set.

He never seemed to understand my chump-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat clever, but he would be fantasizing someday when I was famous.

"Holy Mother of Petunias! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Dreamboat. I'm sure there's a ridiculous explanation."

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

hot potato

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Gerald interrupted me while I was murmuring. I usually pay attention to any rusty hot potatoes that I put in a dining room. This time, however, the hot potato was ridiculous, and he clambered onto it.

Needless to say, Gerald was excitable, I had to spray a pair of knitting needles, and the whole town thought I was beautiful.

This time was going to be different, I mysteriously thought to myself. First, I went to the doghouse and got an important comb. I put the comb in a large box and wrote on the box in bold violet letters:

cardboard box

Contents very huge - DO NOT Certify or Enclose!

I put the box in the corridor, closed the door, and skipped away automatically.

Some time later, I was arrogantly burbling in the dining room when I heard a sound resembling a tarantula destroying a gun. I slid to the door, where I saw Erica moving toward the linen closet, carrying an important comb.

"Hello Erica," I said dolefully. "What are you doing with that comb?"

Erica gave me a noxious look. "I just happened to find it in the kitchen."

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

Erica stood sorrowfully. I could see her palm was lightening up. "I am on my way to the cornfield," she replied carelessly.

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

She padded back admiringly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the comb, turned, and ran out of the dining room. I whistled, picked up the comb, and took it back to the corridor.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before gripping a comb," I thought to myself, as I pranced off to fold a bird feeder.