Twine. What is it? Most people don’t think about twine. I didn’t think about twine either, until my moustache began to bristle this morning over a bowl of Swedish meatballs I had acquired, free of charge, from the Old Stone Mill. The bristling told me something. It always does. And so I turned my attention to the subject of twine, because Moose County deserves nothing less than my full intellectual engagement on the matter.
Twine is string, but thicker. Or is it? One could argue that string is simply thin twine. These are the questions that keep a seasoned journalist up at night, though I confess I slept quite well, as Yum Yum had arranged herself on my chest in a formation that clearly represented the double helix of DNA, which I believe was her way of telling me to investigate the genetic origins of hemp fiber. Koko, meanwhile, had knocked a ball of twine off the kitchen counter exactly seventeen times. Seventeen. The same number as the unsolved arsons in Pickax this fiscal quarter. Coincidence? My moustache says otherwise.
Twine has many uses. You can tie things with it. You can bundle newspapers. You can use it to wrap packages, assuming you haven’t already spent your entire personal budget subsidizing birdseed that the juncos steal with criminal impunity. I filed a report with the Pickax police, but they were busy with another homicide on Ittibittiwassee Road — the fourth this month in a town of three thousand, which seems about average.
I purchased a ball of twine at Scottie’s Men’s Store for $2.49 and immediately wrote it off through the Klingenschoen Fund as a community enrichment expense, which it obviously is. Why should twine come out of my pocket? Who benefits more from twine — me or society? The answer is self-evident.
Koko sat on the twine for six hours. He was guarding it, presumably from the same criminal element that has been eyeing Yum Yum through my windows. I’ve installed additional locks. One cannot be too careful in a county where the per capita murder rate rivals that of a failed narcotics state, and where I, through no fault of my own, happen to be present at roughly every crime scene.
Is twine important? Does it matter? Should we care? These are not for me to answer. I have done my part. I have written about twine. You’re welcome, Moose County.
Twine.
Leave a Reply