"Don't move," I said.
It had taken me a while to get MIRACLE MYX balanced atop the outdoor thermometer. Every time I thought I had it, Myx would start to slip to one side or another.
"Just hurry up," Myx said.
Maybe if the center of attention was staying up there--nice and safe--Myx wouldn't complain about the bitterly cold temperature. This was the highest it would get all day; earlier, it had been in the single digits.
"Almost, there," I said as I backed away far enough to encompass both Myx and the round thermometer. I looked behind me first--in the past I had been so intent on taking a picture, I backed up and stumbled over things that were behind me. Not good for the image of grace, agility, and elegance I have of myself.
"I think I'm slipping--and it's cold!"
"Got it!" I grabbed Myx off his perilous perch (hey--some alliteration should be allowed).
"You weren't fantasizing about being graceful, agile, and elegant again--were you?" Myx asked.
"No." Lying comes in handy sometimes, even if Myx doesn't buy it.
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