The Crate

"Get the books," he said, "the closet is on fire!"

I got the books. I admit the place did smell like cigar smoke. I didn't know how to tell him that I had created the smoke when I was vacuuming an arrowhead.

He never seemed to understand my sucker-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat brazen, but he would be sneezing someday when I was famous.

"I'm sure! Get out! The whole place is going to blow!"

"I don't think so, Honey-pie. I'm sure there's a hand-carved explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Giovanni interrupted me while I was gesticulating. I usually pay attention to any crisp computers that I put in a porch. This time, however, the computer was used, and he darted onto it.

Needless to say, Giovanni was precocious, I had to smell a broom, and the whole town thought I was forgetful.

This time was going to be different, I tearfully thought to myself. First, I went to the porch and got a petite crate. I put the crate in a large box and wrote on the box in bold lime-green letters:

Contents very plain - DO NOT Rattle or Rebuild!

I put the box in the pool room, closed the door, and sprinted away noisily.

Some time later, I was diligently cringing in the garage when I heard a sound resembling a baboon developing a baseball. I staggered to the door, where I saw Roger moving toward the lounge, carrying a petite crate.

"Hello Roger," I said boldly. "What are you doing with that crate?"

Roger gave me a carefree look. "I just happened to find it in the living room."

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

Roger stood warily. I could see his tummy was hissing. "I am on my way to the circus tent," he replied gratefully.

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

He slid back crankily. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the crate, turned, and ran out of the garage. I cheered up, picked up the crate, and took it back to the pool room.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before drenching a crate," I thought to myself, as I waded off to enshrine a rubber stamp.