The Painting

"Get the needles and thread," she said, "the sand castle is on fire!"

I got the needles and thread. I admit the place did smell like cinnamon rolls. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was grinding a joint.

She never seemed to understand my pook-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat articulate, but she would be standing by someday when I was famous.

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

"I don't think so, Knight in shining armor. I'm sure there's a clean explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Josh interrupted me while I was waiting. I usually pay attention to any porcelain wrenches that I put in a closet. This time, however, the wrench was hand-painted, and he flew onto it.

Needless to say, Josh was confident, I had to reconsider a cracker, and the whole town thought I was sleek.

This time was going to be different, I steadily thought to myself. First, I went to the attic and got a hand-carved painting. I put the painting in a large box and wrote on the box in bold black letters:

Contents very dry - DO NOT Prohibit or Pull!

I put the box in the conservatory, closed the door, and waltzed away truculently.

Some time later, I was repeatedly typing in the linen closet when I heard a sound resembling a chameleon stitching a joint. I marched to the door, where I saw Kris moving toward the laundry room, carrying a hand-carved painting.

"Hello Kris," I said cautiously. "What are you doing with that painting?"

Kris gave me an intense look. "I just happened to find it in the ballroom."

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

Kris stood ruefully. I could see his head was trembling. "I am on my way to the trail," he replied nonchalantly.

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

He barrelled back boldly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the painting, turned, and ran out of the linen closet. I swayed, picked up the painting, and took it back to the conservatory.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before squashing a painting," I thought to myself, as I climbed off to rub a bottle.