potato gun

Morning. Palinode and Schmutzie in bed, recumbent and lying down (in case the recumbency doesn't do it). Covers all askew. Cats flanking each.

Schmutzie: When I was young there was this kid named Michael across the street. He had a potato gun.

Palinode: I hate potato guns. No matter what you aim at, you always end up hitting a potato.

Schmutzie: No -

Palinode: - Yes.

Schmutzie: No! That's not how potato guns work. They shoot potatoes.

Palinode: Every damn time.

Schmutzie: No! They shoot them out of themselves.

Palinode: ...

Schmutzie: ...

Palinode: They're good for finding hidden potatoes, though.

upside-down potatoes

What passes for Canadian Thanksgiving around the PaliSchmutz household is passing. Long afternoon, cold air leaking in under the windowsill in the spare room, Schmutzie in the shower, potatoes in the oven. Palinode walking down the hallway.

Schmutzie: What time is it?

Palinode: Ten to two.

Schmutzie: Can you take the potatoes out of the oven?

Reassuring Potato-removal noises coming from the kitchen.

Palinode: Hey...

Schmutzie: Yeah?

Palinode: There's a problem with the potatoes.

Schmutzie: What's wrong with them?

Palinode: They're upside-down.

Pause from the bathroom.

Palinode: The potatoes are -

Schmutzie: What does that mean?

Palinode: It means that all the potatoes are upside-down.

Schmutzie: I don't understand what you're saying to me.

Palinode: All unwonted, the potatoes are upside-down now.

Schmutzie: That doesn't make any sense. Potatoes can't be upside-down.

Palinode: Sure they can. You just turn them over.

Schmutzie: Did you turn them over?

No noise from the kitchen.

Schmutzie: I said, did you turn them over?

Palinode: No.

Schmutzie: Then how -

Palinode: That's just it. I don't know.