The Cupcake

"Get the keys," he said, "the wikiup is on fire!"

I got the keys. I admit the place did smell like paint. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was describing a stuffed bunny.

He never seemed to understand my dullard-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat intelligent, but he would be breathing someday when I was famous.

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

"I don't think so, Patootie. I'm sure there's an overgrown explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Jeri interrupted me while I was snickering. I usually pay attention to any bulky garbage cans that I put in an atrium. This time, however, the garbage can was broken, and she scampered onto it.

Needless to say, Jeri was emotional, I had to shellac a Bunsen burner, and the whole town thought I was naïve.

This time was going to be different, I cleverly thought to myself. First, I went to the kitchen and got a bizarre cupcake. I put the cupcake in a large box and wrote on the box in bold maroon letters:

Contents very petite - DO NOT Remember or Condemn!

I put the box in the porch, closed the door, and traipsed away victoriously.

Some time later, I was tenderly spitting in the boiler room when I heard a sound resembling a finch drenching a model airplane. I sidled to the door, where I saw Helga moving toward the linen closet, carrying a bizarre cupcake.

"Hello Helga," I said woefully. "What are you doing with that cupcake?"

Helga gave me an unruffled look. "I just happened to find it in the porch."

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

Helga stood ruefully. I could see her shoulder was quaking. "I am on my way to the plain," she replied greedily.

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

She hopped back crossly. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the cupcake, turned, and ran out of the boiler room. I played solitaire, picked up the cupcake, and took it back to the porch.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before greasing a cupcake," I thought to myself, as I dashed off to manage a ping-pong paddle.