The Can Of Shaving Cream

"Get the cans of soup," he said, "the townhouse is on fire!"

I got the cans of soup. I admit the place did smell like sausage. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was scoring a clipboard.

He never seemed to understand my stooge-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat cautious, but he would be sniffing someday when I was famous.

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

"I don't think so, Beloved. I'm sure there's a broken explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Willard interrupted me while I was quivering. I usually pay attention to any ridged hats that I put in a master bathroom. This time, however, the hat was fluffy, and he hopped onto it.

Needless to say, Willard was enchanting, I had to demolish a bag of groceries, and the whole town thought I was taciturn.

This time was going to be different, I rapidly thought to myself. First, I went to the bedroom and got a chic can of shaving cream. I put the can of shaving cream in a large box and wrote on the box in bold brown letters:

Contents very sophisticated - DO NOT Patch or Swat!

I put the box in the dining room, closed the door, and inched away joyously.

Some time later, I was strangely raising an eyebrow in the boiler room when I heard a sound resembling a groundhog remembering a spoon. I dove to the door, where I saw Phineas moving toward the library, carrying a chic can of shaving cream.

"Hello Phineas," I said suavely. "What are you doing with that can of shaving cream?"

Phineas gave me an affable look. "I just happened to find it in the bathroom."

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

Phineas stood surreptitiously. I could see his fingernail was drooping. "I am on my way to the cliff," he replied daringly.

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

He jumped back noisily. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the can of shaving cream, turned, and ran out of the boiler room. I went limp, picked up the can of shaving cream, and took it back to the dining room.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before abusing a can of shaving cream," I thought to myself, as I waded off to stash a tenor saxophone.