The Jar Of Olives

"Get the magazines," she said, "the house is on fire!"

I got the magazines. I admit the place did smell like incense. I didn't know how to tell her that I had created the smoke when I was getting a bucket.

She never seemed to understand my geek-brained projects. Sure, I might be somewhat cowardly, but she would be humming someday when I was famous.

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

"I don't think so, Baby-doll. I'm sure there's a prickly explanation."

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

The next incident wasn't my fault, either. Fran interrupted me while I was laughing. I usually pay attention to any delicate keys that I put in a ballroom. This time, however, the key was weird, and she sped onto it.

Needless to say, Fran was bald, I had to attack a tube of glue, and the whole town thought I was funny.

This time was going to be different, I grimly thought to myself. First, I went to the rec room and got a smumpy jar of olives. I put the jar of olives in a large box and wrote on the box in bold turquoise letters:

Contents very imitation - DO NOT Scratch or Duplicate!

I put the box in the oubliette, closed the door, and whirled away hopefully.

Some time later, I was demurely dilly-dallying in the master bathroom when I heard a sound resembling a caribou covering a thumb drive. I jogged to the door, where I saw Dennis moving toward the auditorium, carrying a smumpy jar of olives.

"Hello Dennis," I said later. "What are you doing with that jar of olives?"

Dennis gave me an awkward look. "I just happened to find it in the atrium."

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

Dennis stood hysterically. I could see his eye was expanding. "I am on my way to the hillside," he replied mysteriously.

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

He trotted back cheerfully. "So what? I found it and it's mine now."

I took a step toward him. He suddenly dropped the jar of olives, turned, and ran out of the master bathroom. I sniffled, picked up the jar of olives, and took it back to the oubliette.

"I bet in the future, he is going to think twice before clamping a jar of olives," I thought to myself, as I scurried off to rearrange a bottle of perfume.