The Fugitive

I have come to the inescapable conclusion that I can either have a high-class blog, or I can write about my real life. On most days, the two are mutually exclusive. 

Friday, I was happily folding clothes on my bed when Devon's head popped up in the window. "Oh Mo-ooooooom," he squeaked in the high-pitched voice he uses when trying to be funny, or when embarrassed, "Someone locked the front do-oooooooooor."

We had a brisk little discussion, in which I pointed out to him that no other children were here but him, I had not locked the front door, and unless he was willing to accuse Clancy or the cats, he must have locked hisownself out. He insisted that such a thing was impossible. "Well, then shame on Clancy."

I walked out and unlocked the front door, went back to my laundry, and didn't think any more about it. Had Dad not been pulling up in the driveway right at that moment, we would never have learned...

...The Rest of the Story.

As Dad drove up, he was understandably startled to see a thin, spare, bright white streak as it scuttled from branch to twig in a vain attempt at concealment. (Even an enrolled member of a Native American tribe gets pretty pasty up here.) Like a flash, it dove across the final stretch of lawn and in the front door.

Clad only in its underwear.

Personally, I think the Caped Avenger needs a new costume designer, or at least a cape. That qualified as a wardrobe malfunction of epic proportions. Standing in the living room, it was possible to piece together a portion of the story. Wet swimming shorts lay in the middle of the floor, right where their owner had dropped them. The undies were dry, so it didn't take Sherlock Holmes to figure out that Devon had gotten wet, changed, and then gone outside. But why? That was the one thing for which the physical evidence offered no clue.

I'm always scared to ask the 'why' question. Every time I ask it, I get an answer. But I had to ask anyway. I knew you would all want to know.

"Devon, why did you go outside in your underwear?"

"Because I needed to put my three dollars out to dry on the bumper of the trailer."

"So you couldn't have put the money out there once you had pants on?" 

"Oh."

This brings to mind another story of long ago. Hmmm. Not all that long ago. It involved a small girl, and to protect her identity, we shall call her Roni Neth.

Young Roni lived in the lovely and placid town of College Place, WA. Her favorite hobby was to ride her Hot Wheels (she called it her motorcycle), up and down the street.One day, for no apparent reason that she can remember, she removed every last stitch of clothing and raced down the street on her motorcycle, wild and free.

Her daring ride came to an abrupt end when an elderly neighbor stopped her, frowned at her - can you imagine it, actually frowned at that sweet angel who was VERY shocked to be treated thus - and told her to go home and put on some clothes. Philistine!

Much affronted, she did. 

Which just goes to show that Devon comes by it honestly, or that is to say, he would have come by it honestly had any of his ancestors ever done such a thing. Which they haven't. They would never be so uncivilized. Um, um, there's a first time for everything, I always say.

Signed,

The very dainty and delicate,

Noni Neth

Beth