The BIG Red Button

Now look what you’ve gone and made me do … the dusting. And I had to rearrange the furniture and push the vacuuming cylinder across the linoleum chasing those dastardly dust bunnies. It really doesn’t pay to live in the desert. And all that noise. Oh my! Anyone would think this was a testing ground for those Atomic Boys and their toys. Blasting huge craters in the sand. I mean, it really doesn’t do, now does it? What did the sand ever do to deserve that kind of treatment?

What? Sorry, where are my manners? I almost forgot you were there, darkening my doorstep.

Please, come in, yes, take a seat.

Yes, I know, I moved it so you could look out the window and see those strange mushroom clouds off in the distance. Marvellous don’t you think. They say it’s bad weather coming in. But that Mikey, you know, who delivers the newspapers, said it was a sign of something though what, exactly, he didn’t know. Bless him. He’s only ten. I mean, what would a ten year-old know about the weather?

Exactly, nothing! But I tell you, that whooshing sound does hurt me ears and all that dust? I keep telling Fred, it’s no good. He’s going to have to do something to seal the windows better, because I swear, I’m at my wits end with dust, the shaking, and all that noise. Morning, noon and night, why, anyone would think we were at war. And those Boys of ours were cooking up some strange new fangled devices to fight the enemy, out there in those huge hangers of theirs.

It doesn’t bare thinking about.

But don’t mind me … how about we sit in the kitchen, away from the windows, and have some nice, cool, refreshing lemonade? My, that does sound good doesn’t it.