My Cardboard Balcony

Oh, Exterminator by Belinda Roddie Oh, exterminator, you hypnotize me with your face mask and black overalls as you spray my whole house to stop termites from digging in and eating through my walls. You tip your hard hat to me when you walk in for the monthly inspection. I hate that I can't see you smiling when you talk and warn me to leave whilst you fumigate and I evacuate. Remember, sir, the number of my hotel room that I slipped into your shirt pocket while you were scoping my bedroom for cockroaches. Bye, Mister Exterminator. It's no sin to visit me at the Holiday Inn.

"Of course you'll be a great pianist," said Mister Dorf, smiling over his coffee mug as he sat in his plush green chair. "It's in your genetics." "Okay, Dad," Hazel groaned, "the term is 'in your genes.' And second of all, I want to try out the oboe, not the piano." "Really?" Mister Dorf frowned. "But we're related to - " "I don't care that we're related to Mozart!" his daughter snapped.