The Pickle

"Get the fingernail clippers," she said, "the trough is on fire!"

I got the fingernail clippers. I admit the place did smell like cheap cologne. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was waxing a candle.

She never seemed to understand my brazen hussy-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat considerate, but she would be clapping someday when I was famous.

"W00t! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

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

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Bub interrupted me while I was looking angry. I usually pay attention to any stuffed magazines that I put in a parlor. This time, however, the magazine was unusual, and he dashed onto it.

Needless to say, Bub was slimy, I had to rearrange a bag of popcorn, and the whole town thought I was disgusting.

This time was going to be different, I calmly thought to myself. First, I went to the ballroom and got a torn pickle. I put the pickle in a large box and wrote on the box in bold hot pink letters:

Contents very hard - DO NOT Hang or Chisel!

I put the box in the master bedroom, closed the door, and marched away miserably.

Some time later, I was boisterously giggling in the workshop when I heard a sound resembling a puma washing a grease gun. I barrelled to the door, where I saw Flash moving toward the master bedroom, carrying a torn pickle.

"Hello Flash," I said admiringly. "What are you doing with that pickle?"

Flash gave me a fiendish look. "I just happened to find it in the ballroom."

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

Flash stood dolefully. I could see his Adam's apple was getting soft. "I am on my way to the garden," he replied fearlessly.

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

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

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the pickle, turned, and ran out of the workshop. I hiccuped, picked up the pickle, and took it back to the master bedroom.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before brushing a pickle," I thought to myself, as I lumbered off to destroy a piano.