“When I awoke after being knocked unconscious,” said Walton, “I knew something was wrong. I sneezed and my pants fell down. Soon I was running out of belt holes. I was losing an inch a day! At least! When I shrank to five feet, I knew it was time to become a jockey. I won several races, rapidly rose in the ranks, would have scaled the heights of fame, but all too soon I flunked the minimum height requirement.
“Got my next job at one foot tall—fixing stripped eyeglass holes. I got so good, nobody was replacing their glasses. So the United Optometrists Society had me barred. Out of work again!
“At three inches, I became the city’s Chief Finder of Things That Had Fallen Down Behind Things. I specialized in blueberries under refrigerators, keys in couches, and contact lenses in sink drains. I was in demand, but eventually I couldn’t sign my checks, so I closed up my shop-in-a-box.
“Out on the streets again, one inch tall, and now you find me!”
The praying mantis stared down with compassion.
“A touching tale. However, it’s still lunchtime.”
Great story!
This is a story of great stature.