One afternoon, I received a frantic call from S., the girlfriend of M., an old pal. Apparently, S. was alone on the throne and talking on the phone when Misty, M.’s Vietnamese potbellied pig, appeared and imprisoned her in the bathroom.
Ripe for adventure, I grabbed a can of Planters cocktail peanuts and sped to the rescue.
Unbeknownst to S., Misty had burrowed under the perennial mountain of dirty clothes in the bathroom for a nap.
The redoubtable Misty, indignant at being disturbed, scrambled to attack mode, barking furiously. Smelling fear, she seized control by blocking the doorway, a pair of lace panties dangling from her snout. Misty loved games!
When I arrived, S. was standing on the toilet seat quaking with fear, clad only in scanties.
I stifled giggles and laid a trail of peanuts to the den. Misty adored bribes. She dropped the “ferocious” act and nibbled her way to the sofa.
S., eventually fully clad, sat stone-faced and simmering, itching to give M. the business upon his return – an impending bummer. ’Twas time to exit stage left.
