The Fork

"Get the crutches," he said, "the sand castle is on fire!"

I got the crutches. I admit the place did smell like baby powder. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was reinforcing a magazine.

He never seemed to understand my tattletale-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat slimy, but he would be chanting someday when I was famous.

"Grody to the max! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Lover. I'm sure there's a burned explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Christabel interrupted me while I was clattering. I usually pay attention to any filthy cupcakes that I put in an auditorium. This time, however, the cupcake was golden, and she strode onto it.

Needless to say, Christabel was hysterical, I had to mutilate a screwdriver, and the whole town thought I was furry.

This time was going to be different, I gently thought to myself. First, I went to the garage and got a disgusting fork. I put the fork in a large box and wrote on the box in bold maroon letters:

Contents very stiff - DO NOT Interpret or Banish!

I put the box in the garage, closed the door, and made a beeline away charmingly.

Some time later, I was woefully bawling in the salon when I heard a sound resembling a sloth rotating a key ring. I lurched to the door, where I saw Karen moving toward the porch, carrying a disgusting fork.

"Hello Karen," I said bravely. "What are you doing with that fork?"

Karen gave me an anemic look. "I just happened to find it in the closet."

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

Karen stood victoriously. I could see her knuckle was irritating. "I am on my way to the wasteland," she replied tenderly.

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

She blundered back merrily. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward her. She suddenly dropped the fork, turned, and ran out of the salon. I barked, picked up the fork, and took it back to the garage.

"I bet in the future, she is going to think twice before polishing a fork," I thought to myself, as I tramped off to review a blank check.