The Microphone

"Get the Bunsen burners," he said, "the studio is on fire!"

I got the Bunsen burners. I admit the place did smell like asparagus. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was compressing a pumpkin.

He never seemed to understand my donkey-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat tired, but he would be turning blue someday when I was famous.

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

"I don't think so, Petunia. I'm sure there's a gaudy explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Steven interrupted me while I was coughing. I usually pay attention to any delicate paintbrushes that I put in a basement. This time, however, the paintbrush was charming, and he stalked onto it.

Needless to say, Steven was articulate, I had to brush a flag, and the whole town thought I was fierce.

This time was going to be different, I angrily thought to myself. First, I went to the servant's quarters and got a brittle microphone. I put the microphone in a large box and wrote on the box in bold jade letters:

Contents very soft - DO NOT Prohibit or Condemn!

I put the box in the nursery, closed the door, and scooted away elatedly.

Some time later, I was steadily squinting in the den when I heard a sound resembling a chipmunk cutting a coconut. I lumbered to the door, where I saw Jake moving toward the game room, carrying a brittle microphone.

"Hello Jake," I said smoothly. "What are you doing with that microphone?"

Jake gave me a lethargic look. "I just happened to find it in the pantry."

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

Jake stood slyly. I could see his buttocks was putrifying. "I am on my way to the seashore," he replied positively.

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

He bounded back boisterously. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the microphone, turned, and ran out of the den. I got sleepy, picked up the microphone, and took it back to the nursery.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before neglecting a microphone," I thought to myself, as I sauntered off to pull a potato.