Last night we were putting together a sectional for the room in our house in which no furniture can enter due to poor floor planning Gert came into the house inconsolably sobbing.
“She’s gone,” she cried. “I can’t find her anywhere! Where could she be?”
“Who’s gone?”
“Clarabelle,” she wailed.
“Who is Clarabelle?”
“My favorite stick!”
Clarabelle was a bleached white stick that she found at Creve Coeur Lake last year. She’s carried it around and played with it since then. I had no idea it was named Clarabelle.
“Well,” I asked, “where did you see her last?”
“Out front. Yesterday, when I was doing karate.” Of course, that all seemed logical. When your best friend is a stick, that’s what you’d play.
So we did a full on stick hunt. To no avail. Clarabelle is gone. We’re going to look around the neighborhood after school today, worried that she may have been sticknapped by some neighborhood miscreant. If we don’t find her, we’ve decided to go back to the lake and see if we can find Clarabell’s family and bring one home.
“Okay,” Gert said. “But it has to be a girl and she has to be just a little bit taller than me.”
Of course. It all seems logical.
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