Today, as I walked past Peter, I got the overwhelming sense that he was crouched and ready to spring. A wave of fear overcame me until I had passed safely by--the kind of fear that you experience when you suddenly realize that the dog you are petting is foaming at the mouth and looking at you strangely. The Search for the Truth continues.
Me: George, you should marry a Halminen.
George: Because then I'd be an aristocrat!
And why am I not at Millwork helping set up the display? You'd think they could've asked. Well, maybe next time.
George: Are any of you guys at Millwork?
Me, Sarah, Monica: No...
Me: I want to go to Millwork! Why didn't they ask me? I could bring tons of good ideas to the table...
George: I'm sure you have lots to contribute.
Me: Wow, thank you, George. You don't know how much that means to me.
George: Wait, what did I just say?
Sarah informed me of a large pile of sawdust behind Woodwork.
Me: WOW! Let's go jump in it!
Sarah: No, I don't want to get all sawdusty...
Me: Oh, come on!
Sarah: No... Why don't you ask Monica? She doesn't think of things like that.
Me: Hmmm... Excellent idea!
And so, Monica and I jumped in the sawdust pile, until Neil drove up. We thought he was going to yell at us. But he didn't. Then he started talking, and we realized that Mr. Knowles was halfway up the side of the silo, right beside us, looking in to see how full it was.
Sarah: Can I climb it?
Mr. Knowles: Yeah, sure.
Monica: Ooo...can I climb it too?
Mr. Knowles: Yep.
Me: Me too, me too?
Mr. Knowles: Just don't fall, or I'll never talk to you again.
We climbed up. We saw. We gazed in astonishment as all of Oshawa lay at our feet. We wondered what the spear-like things fastened to the top were. (I thought they kept the dragons away. Monica thought they kept flying dogs away. Sarah thought they were lightning rods. Sarah was probably right.) We decided that it would be a pity to be up there and not spit over the railing. We spat seventy-three feet to the ground below. We climbed down.
Now to organize this camping adventure that I shall embark upon before Wakestock. Pity me; it is not a task to be taken lightly, especially when surrounded by nincompoops. (Just kidding. A-ha. Ha. Ha.)