The Adventures of Geo Beane: Day 6 of Renovations

Humphrey had said that we would go together to return the vinyl tiles, and he was as golden as his word. He packed us up quickly this chilly wet morning, with just a brief stop at the new place to pick up the boxes. He had opened up two of them the other day, and I had chewed one of the corners, so understandably there was a little consternation over whether a return would at all be possible...

"We have the receipts, Geo, and that is the key."

It had been a few days since I had been at the house, and I was excited and curious to be let back in. My Humphrey can be a force unreckoned... and all around the place I scampered to see signs of where his personal Tornado had flown through, with scraper, hammer, screwdriver, or broom, and especially with paintbrush. The upstairs was well underway, in this respect.

The dungeon gray walls of two of the four bedrooms were now painted a warm gleaming white...

Then, bounding down the stairs, into the car, off we went to Menard's. I myself had relinquished the very thought of ducks, and wasn't going to harp on it, but Humphrey himself brought it up:

"Geo Beane, there may be some Quacks in the aisles, but there are definitely NO ducks in Menard's. "

My ears perked up automatically with interest. I had not fathomed the possibility of ghost hunting...

"Aarrgh!"

"Geo... Quacks are seemingly ordinary people with extra-ordinary confidence in things they know little about..."

uwmg.

"These can be fairly easily recognized by rabid over zealousness in offering free advice."

I braced myself attentively in the pushcart and showed myself ready and on the lookout.

The twenty something year-old with simple pony-tail behind the service counter was definitely not a Quack. I gave her a cheery grin and she eyed me very skeptically.

She did a quick scan of all the receipts and package barcodes, and briskly returned Humphrey's funds to that little plastic card, which he always carries as Club-Card of Middle-Class Bourgeoisie.

We then wheeled at steady clip to the far-left corner of the store where they keep all the paint cans; the same corner where I threw my tantrum several days ago. As Humphrey was hemming and hawing over this stain or that, and whatnot poly-coating for the flooring, I spotted a hammer finish gold that I was very keen on...

"Mmmrraugh..." I tugged on Humphrey's shirtsleeve, tail wagging insistently. He looked up once, focusing vaguely back onto the small print of the water-based Varathane, then looked up again, intently, and I could see a trace of calculation.

"Interesting, Boo. Very interesting. We'll think about it. Maybe for the trim..."

Aarf! arff!! yes for the trim that was exactly what I was thinking. I am always so proud of Humphrey for tuning into my random channeling.

Rrr... then I bristled. An attendant was marching towards us, Ordinary, with Extra-Ordinary Confidence. I backed up into the far corner of the cart. Was it a Quack? Couldn't be. He spoke with directness and tact that warranted respectful attention from Humphrey, and importantly he treated me like any other proper Patron in the store, with neither distain nor gushing sentimentality over appearances, for which he garnered immediate esteem. (Only later did he bring me some paint mixing sticks to chew on, along with the spun paint cans.)

Otherwise, I was neither Dog nor Man, just ears for listening.

And now, I was listening to Humphrey announce that it was back to Mrs. B.'s and Bonnie's for me, Beanieboo.