It Must Be the Weather
It was all right at the time of going to press. In fact, it was rather enjoyable and we were able to mow the lawn and clip the dog.
Mrs. Harriet Sprog from next door came around and asked who the devil had had the nerve to make her prize Airedale look like a newly-shorn lamb and whoever it was was going to be sued for a million, even if Mr. Sprog had to mortgage the house to raise the money for lawyers’ fees.
It was only then that we realised we hadn’t got a dog.
We assured Mrs. Sprog it must have been the weather, but Mrs. Sprog never notices the weather and is never influenced by it. She can’t understand why it should influence other people and the only time she was chased round the garden in spring by Mr. Sprog was 10 years ago. She soon put a stop to that caper by dumping him in the compost heap. We don’t know what’s going to happen now. Our only excuse is the weather. It’s the weather that induces cute CAROL BURDETTE, chemist’s assistant, to don her longs. The sun was shining, we told her. She said yes, but you can never tell what it’s going to do tomorrow.