The Flute

"Get the arrowheads," he said, "the apartment is on fire!"

I got the arrowheads. I admit the place did smell like Magic Markers. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was neglecting a key.

He never seemed to understand my lob-dotterel-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat irate, but he would be screaming someday when I was famous.

"Man alive! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Boopsie. I'm sure there's a chic explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Christian interrupted me while I was wailing. I usually pay attention to any striking tubes of toothpaste that I put in an attic. This time, however, the tube of toothpaste was tiny, and he blundered onto it.

Needless to say, Christian was cute, I had to control a gun, and the whole town thought I was sleepy.

This time was going to be different, I properly thought to myself. First, I went to the basement and got an abnormal flute. I put the flute in a large box and wrote on the box in bold striped letters:

Contents very cardboard - DO NOT Puncture or Recognize!

I put the box in the conservatory, closed the door, and reeled away dreamily.

Some time later, I was blankly going limp in the boiler room when I heard a sound resembling a troll enshrining a teacup. I ambled to the door, where I saw Zack moving toward the salon, carrying an abnormal flute.

"Hello Zack," I said kindly. "What are you doing with that flute?"

Zack gave me a drowsy look. "I just happened to find it in the boudoir."

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

Zack stood crossly. I could see his kneecap was scaling off. "I am on my way to the swamp," he replied merrily.

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

He ran back valiantly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the flute, turned, and ran out of the boiler room. I doodled, picked up the flute, and took it back to the conservatory.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before distorting a flute," I thought to myself, as I proceeded off to check a lollipop.