Subject: Manse Diaries: Pent-up Pals

Date: 23 Jun 1998 00:00:00 GMT

From: (MegaLiz)

Organization: MotPU: Where Binary Moodswings are ALWAYS on the Menu

Newsgroups: alt.foot.fat-free, alt.slack






Summer school is beginning with a correspondence class, that is, with

a class in correspondence. Spunky is wild to learn about how to put

her letters together and Sparky lives to lord her knowledge of first

grade over the little sister. Suffering sighs and screams burst out of

their classroom occasionally when Spunky gets tired and decides that

the best way to end class is to start licking. One would think that

her tongue was studded with droplets of every deadly poison, based on

the galvanic reaction to its mere appearance.



every container within reach and runs for her dry life.


"BLEH-DEH-BLEH-DEH-BLEH!! Hee hee hee. I gotta PRESENT for YOOOOO!!"


For Sparky, teaching is a tempered joy.


Aside from the tongue, The Chair has become a large issue. Sparky and

Spunky both want a particular chair, which is coveted by virtue of its

position at the dining room table, WHICH is more correctly referred to

as the Feed Slab and Art Desk. It's not clear why this spot is in

contention. I would speculate that it has something to do with its

being the best vantage point to watch both the television and the

refrigerator. It's also the best place to watch me in the kitchen

while I chop things and drop things; from The Chair they can get the

most out my exasperated stare when someone asks if it's food yet.


The Rev hit upon The Cow Solution to The Chair problem. I thought it

was far too complicated to succeed, but I was wrong. I'm not ready to

admit that I was wrong enough to start taking credit for the idea,

though, because I fully expect The Cow Solution to go down in the

inventory of infamy.


According to the Cow Solution, The Chair is assigned to whomever has

their name stuck to the refrigerator by a magnetic cow. After dinner

each night, assuming anyone actually sat at the Feed Slab, we have the

ceremonial Moving of The Cow. They are both very honest about these

important things, so if there is any confusion, it's no problem to let

The Cow decide.


For now, all other privileges are related to who has Chair Day

according to The Cow. Whoever has Chair Day gets to exit the front

door first, but does not get to have the front seat of the car unless

they win a coin toss.


Due to a minor glitch, the coin toss method may have to be abandoned

as unfair: Spunky has won nineteen out of the last twenty coin tosses.

*I* know I didn't cheat, they know I didn't cheat, but it seems cruel

to continue. Sparky bursts into tears at every loss and has already

seen enough of this streak to ensure that she will never again gamble

for fun. I tossed the last few coins "just to see" and even when there

was no prize at stake, she was every bit as crushed as if she'd lost

the right to best her sister forever.


Sparky is right to object to the coin toss, I think. It gave her days

of back seat sitting, second choice of vitamin flavor, second in line

for a backrub--really, everyone has their limit. At least according to

The Cow, she's never more than a day away from first place.


All this background should illuminate their letters to each other.

They have been slaving at this little correspondence for two days now.



| June2198 |

| |

| Dear Spunky, |

| I'm your sisster |

| [which] I know. |

| you can't sit |

| in the chair. |

| Love, |

| Sparky |




| O F O |

| I F O |

| S Y F V |

| A L F J |

| F O J |

| P N O |

| P M |

| O N P M |




| |

| |

| Dear Spunky, |

| This is a letter |

| [which] I know |

| you know. |

| |

| Love, |

| Sparky |




| A F O P |

| N F D |

| O F N O |

| I F N P |

| F F P |

| F S |

| K E O P |

| |




| |

| |

| Dear Spunky, |

| your my best |

| firend. |

| |

| |

| Love, |

| Sparky |




| Y M O N N |

| A I N A |

| Y O P |

| A F A P |

| N P M |

| MAMA |

| |

| |



While the best friend business makes me feel gooey, the Mama reference

only makes me nervous. That's probably just because summer vacation is

only a week old, and I can be sure that once they have thoroughly

prodded each other's soft spots, they'll turn on me with all the

strength of their compulsive, poking, traveling rodeo.


Gracious, they're voracious.



Thelma distrusted someone shamefully white