Mister Mac is a benevolent mystery down at the local hardware store. Going through four, five, even six gallons of Behr every month. "Just how many bird houses does make?" the associate asks himself as he fires up the pneumatic mixer. "I hope I can still be that active when I retire."
As Jake's forlorn form sat on the swing set, Mrs. MacGregor smiled and shook her head. "Why, another child spilled paint on himself," she thought. "That's the fourth, no, fifth one this month. What clumsy boys this generation has wrought."
She shifted her focus to the bird house, another product of her husband's primary hobby, swinging from the old willow.
Her smile faded as she watched the birds flock to their dwelling. "Yes. These boys. Quite clumsy indeed."
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