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Show TOMFOOLERY., $ We certainly hope things are a lot calmer at your house these days than they are at ours. Mommy's little baby, wk0( according to Nelson Eddy, should be quietly infatuated with shortenin bread, has fallen instead for a cupboard full oI . pans and kettles. At first the affair, which began while he was still creep. ing, was a casual thing. He'd crawl up to the cupboard, K lovingly crash the pans and kettles out onto the kitchen V floor and then, like as not, leave them flat while he sought S out something less dangerous such as a pair of scisssors or a butcher knife. These he would stealthily transport to the K bathroom while no one was looking presumably clenched . ; in his toothless gums and there somehow manage to drop r them into a receptical which needs no further introduction. Since he learned how to walk, however, his adoration has been confined entirely to pans and kettles. He can't, as : his mother said the other day in a voice edged with defeat, 1 leave the stuff alone. And during his waking hours he ! strides about the house banging pans together in sensual , delight. There's only one sound he enjoys more than the L' one he effects by striking pan against pan; this he accomp- 1 lishes by lobing a teakettle onto any glass-topped object. V He isn't particular as long as there's glass involved. For him the awful, shattering sound of breaking glass is the realization of man's and baby's purpose in life. You'd think he'd take a breather once in awhile. But he doesn't. When the pace becomes tiring, he merely sits j down, after gathering about him the objects of his affection, ' and proceeds to place pan upon kettle and kettle upon pan with an ear-splitting touch that shouldn't happen to a boiler maker. Yep, Mommy's little baby loves pans and kettles. And j Baby's little daddy won't ever, ever try again to spend a I quiet afternoon writing at home. ! |