Miracle Myx Fires Up

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"Ring the bell!"

"Myx, I don't think this engine has a bell. Besides, that would be startling to the others in the museum."

"And ...?"

"Hmmmm. Good point. Draw a little attention to ourselves and then--"

"Speaking of ourselves ... what are you doing in the photo?" Myx asked.

"Somebody's gotta drive this rig." I said it like it made sense. But, when Myx and I argue, sense isn't necessarily a priority.

"In MIRACLE MYX, I do some driving," Myx said.

"Illegally, I might add."

"Dave, if you drove a fire truck, every building would burn down before you got there. Tell everyone what Kristin says about your driving."

"They wouldn't want to hear--"

"Dave drives so slowly that whenever he takes his daughter anywhere, she turns to look in the back seat to see if Miss Daisy is sitting there," Myx said, obviously amused.

"They didn't need to know that."

"Ring the bell," Myx said.

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Miracle Myx Has A Secret

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"You chickened out," Myx said.

"Did not."

"Did too."

I wasn't going to admit anything to Myx.

"We walked by and you didn't have the guts to go in and explain yourself," Myx said.

"I just think this is a much more tasteful and artful photo."

"You chickened out."

I had walked by Victoria's Secret and looked in. But I, who had braved many other odd looks and verbal inquiries about this unique pursuit of taking photos of a book--even I thought snapping a pic of Myx amidst scantily clad mannequins might be looked upon in the wrong light.

"Just look at you in the foreground, Myx--and the whole panorama of Victoria's Secret framed in the background!"

"You chickened out."

"And?..."

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