“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.”