work in progress 'ballerina blues' by myra anderson painter of the ballerina sketch - also don't let anyone tell you what happened - read about what really happened here . . .

This is a true story.
Yesterday Harvey and I were having a lively discussion when suddenly there was a 'bam! bam! bam!' on the door.  Startled we took turns looking out the door's peep hole as well as the living room window - but we didn't see anyone.  Finally Harvey opened the door and we discovered that it was the police.  They said that they had to come in and check the house because someone inside had called 911.  

Now . . . I remembered that a few minutes before our lively discussion -  Harvey had tried to call his mother - but had called the 'wrong number'.  Also, if the police had been listening to our conversation before 'going in' Harvey and I were having a conversation about chicken.  About how we were having chicken for dinner - about whether we were having roasted chicken, lemon pepper chicken, honey bar-b-Que chicken, mango chicken, chipotle chicken, Hawaiian chicken and on and on. 

Anyway we could not believe that they were in fact the police because they looked so young - like late teens or early twenties.  But come in and check they did.  One watched me with his hand on his gun while the other one checked the house.  Not being able to tell who would be menacing who - the extremely gorgeous woman with the hour glass figure or the extremely handsome man with the muscular pecs - the police finally concluded that everything was okay and left.  Then, Harvey went and got that chicken. . . it was good. . . I had to give Harvey a refresher course on how to use the phone . . . we watched some television and went to bed . . . the end.

'mrs. anderson . . . step away from the fryer and put the chicken down . . .'