the inquisitive one

THE EYES OPENED . . . again!!

The inquisitive one could see only one thing—white, silky, cottony stuff.

The inquisitive one felt unwell.

“Urrrghhh. . . .” said the inquisitive one.

“Get up, now!!” yelled the worm living in the inquisitive one’s bellybutton. “I’m starving!! Give me pizza!!!!”

“Pizza sounds really good,” admitted the inquisitive one.

“Then get on it!! Hup two, hup two!!”

“Okay, okay,” muttered the inquisitive one.

The i.o. pushed the white stuff away from the face, squirmed out of the cocoon, and lifted the bottom of it, dumping out everything inside.

OUT CAME THE BOOKS, precious stones, and wall decorations. Out came the laptop and potted plants. Out came the career and relationships. Out came the love life and jar of peanut butter.

The inquisitive one stared at the stuff, . . . that is, tried to. It was difficult to see anything. Hundreds of thousands of butterflies were suddenly flying throughout the room and landing, with flexing wings, on every surface!

Each butterfly had a different color pattern!

Every color in the spectrum was represented!

They were beautiful!

The inquisitive one scowled.

That was when the i.o. located the laptop amidst all the fluttering, plugged it in, powered it on, went to Amazon.com, and searched for—

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING?!! ORDER A PIZZA, NOW!!”

“Okay, okay,” muttered the inquisitive one.

The inquisitive one ordered a pizza online.

Then the i.o. went back to Amazon.com and clicked “Free Shipping in 5 Seconds” and “Place Your Order.”

“OH, THEY’RE EARLY!” the inquisitive one said, when the doorbell rang 2 seconds later.

The inquisitive one stepped cautiously to the door, trying not to crush any butterflies. The i.o. retrieved the Amazon package, opened it, and unpacked it. That was when the i.o. began the process of scooping butterflies into the shiny new butterfly net and releasing them outside.

The i.o. completed this job in only 45 minutes!

Well, reader, to be clear—the job wasn’t fully complete in 45 minutes. But who doesn’t love a few hundred butterflies flitting about the house, displaying their brilliant colors, and pooping on the countertops?

THE INQUISITIVE ONE PLOPPED down on the carpet—slowly and carefully—and began to take stock of things.

The i.o. touched each of the books, stones, and wall decorations, cherishing each of them more than ever! And the laptop, the i.o. reflected, seemed to have run faster than usual!—though that was just an unverifiable feeling. The potted plants, however, were definitely bigger, greener, and all-around healthier looking than before!

“That’s strange,” said the inquisitive one, “seeing as I wasn’t able to water th—”

“WHERE’S THE PIZZA???!!!!!!”

“Hmm, good quest—”

“I’M ABOUT TO STARVE OVER HERE!!!! GET THAT PEANUT BUTTER JAR, RIGHT NOW!!!!”

“Okay, okay,” muttered the inquisitive one.

“HEY!! THERE’S NOTHING IN HERE!!!! DO YOU WANT ME TO STARVE TO DEATH?!!”

As the worm continued to howl, the i.o. suddenly remembered that the hands had had no trouble using the laptop or butterfly net. Yes—upon inspection, the inquisitive one noticed that the mushrooms were gone from under the fingernails! Yes, and they were gone from under the toenails! And the celery plant had vanished from the left ear!

“WOW!!” exclaimed the inquisitive one.

“Pizza, pizza, pizza!! Give me pizza, pizza, pizza!! Give me . . .”

The inquisitive one scooped up the career, relationships, and love life, and began the process of sorting through it all—trying to figure out what was going on with each of them—as butterflies flitted about, and the worm continued to sing, moan, and occasionally shriek.

Five or six hours later, the doorbell rang.

“OH, THEY’RE LATE!” the inquisitive one said, stepping cautiously through butterflies to the door.

Soon thereafter, the inquisitive one plopped, in slow motion, on the couch, and ate four humongous slices of pizza . . . in silence, excepting the cacophony of fluttering.

The worm, I regret to report, was dead.

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