Upon feeling a jolt of inspiration, the inquisitive one called up Domino’s and ordered, for delivery, 30 large supreme pizzas and 30 2-liters of Coke.
Next, the i.o. went on Amazon and ordered 30 gallons of fresh spring water and 30 large buckets. The i.o. selected the option for FASTEST DELIVERY! GUARANTEED WITHIN 90 MINUTES! DELIVERED BY DRONE WITH PERSONAL ESCORT FROM MARINE TWO.
Once the items had arrived, the i.o. brought them into the home office and locked the door.
***
When three weeks had gone by and I hadn’t heard from the inquisitive one, I knocked on the i.o.’s door. There was no answer, so I let myself in. Everything was quiet, except in the kitchen, where the wise ant was throwing a colony-building party with 3,000 close friends, at the baseboard directly under the window.
“That’s an impressive amount of sand and dirt you’ve gathered!” I called out in passing.
The wise ant waved at me with one foot, while sculpting a corridor opening with three other feet.
I was stepping down the dark, silent hallway when the home office door burst open. The i.o. appeared in the door frame, holding a large stack of printed paper.
“Are you okay?” I gasped, because the i.o.’s face looked puffy and saggy, in all the wrong places. And then I breathed in the most disgusting-smelling air you can possibly imagine. “Uuuuurgh!! What’s that smell?!!”
“My autobiographical novel is finished,” the i.o. muttered, handing me the manuscript. I took it, as the i.o. crumpled to the floor with a dull thump.
“HELP!” I shouted. “Wise ant!! Call 911!!!”
“What’d you say!” the wise ant called back. “Whatever it is, I’m busy!”
I stood there and watched, mesmerized, as the i.o. continued crumpling, getting smaller and smaller, until the former i.o. was an inchworm. The inchworm inched over the hardwood and into the bedroom, slinky step by slinky step, and up a bed leg, and over the top of the blanket, and up and onto the pillow. After completing that 30-minute journey, as I continued to stare, the inchworm, centered perfectly on the pillow, stretched out to full length and fell into a deep sleep.
Concerned, I hung around the house. Mostly, I read in the living room. Sometimes I peeked into the bedroom to make sure the inchworm was still sleeping and not unconscious. Sometimes I even put a tiny cool damp paper towel on the inchworm’s forehead. And I definitely cleaned up the mess in the home office.
***
Exactly 72 hours later, the inquisitive one bounded out of the bedroom, wearing sunglasses and a cap.
“Hey,” I cried, holding up the manuscript in awe, “this is a masterpiece! By the way, how are you feeling?”
“I’m going on a little run. Just to West Virginia and back! Hey, how’s your autobiographical novel coming along?”
“Er, . . .”
“WHAT’S TAKING YOU SO LONG?!!!” cried the i.o. in disbelief.
That was when the inquisitive one grabbed an energy bar off the counter and jogged out the front door.
