Copyright 1994(c)
                      GREEKS BEARING WHAT?
                         By Kay Honaker
 
     Mae Camilla drifted down the stairs from her bedroom in a
semi-delirious state. Yesterday afternoon's mail had contained an
acceptance for a short story and a check for an article, and the
cheery glow such events inspire still carried over to this morning.
     "A cup of tea would be nice," she smiled to herself, and
proceeded to brew one. Then she carried it and a slightly stale
croissant left over from yesterday's lunch into the living room and
sank dreamily onto the recliner.  
     "Maybe  I'll just sit here for a while and watch TV. Or an 
old movie. I deserve a rest. I've been working hard." 
     But the chair didn't feel quite right.  Mae tried to shift
into a more comfortable position, but something poked her, and
...".  
     "Who do you think you are, you big ox?  Get off us!" 
     "What ... ?  Who ... ?" 
     "Mmmph! Just because you got a little recognition yesterday,"
... 
     Mae pulled herself out of the chair and turned around to look. 
"Who are you, anyway? And what are you doing in my house?" 
     Two small personages with yellow hair and dark eyes peered up. 
A spicy scent drifted up from their togas. Togas?! 
     "I'm Laurel, and this is my cousin Laurel. We belong to you. 
But I'm telling you, I'm tired of getting sat on all the time." 
     "Yeah, it's no fun.  I don't think we'll let you get away with
it." 
     "Wait just a minute!  Who put you in charge, anyway?" Fuming,
Mae tried to sit back down, but received a hard pinch for her 
efforts. "Ouch! Not funny, you two. I've had it. Out of the chair."
     "No way, Kay. Not gonna do it. Now, be a good girl and run
off to the office. Get it? Off to the off-ice." One of the imps
elbowed the other, and they both collapsed, giggling. 
     "Hold it! I am not going to be at the beck and call of two
annoying little ... who did you say you were again?" 
     "Short memory, huh? Well, they say it's the first thing to
go." More giggling. "Now get in there and tickle the keyboard,
girl. Time's a wastin'." 
     Mae rolled her eyes. Couldn't she at least have gotten a
conscience (if that's what these were) with decent senses of humor?
Then she sighed. The girls were right, of course. She couldn't stop
working just because she'd made a couple of sales. 
     "Okay, okay, I'm going. Say, you're not going to stick around,
are you? I mean, don't you need to go visit John Grisham or Amy Tan
or somebody?"
     "Nah. They've learned not to rest on their Laurels. You've
still got some work to do in that department, if you know what we
mean. "Now get! The word processor wants some words to process! 
Get it?  The word processor ..." 
     Mae groaned and headed for the office. Hopefully the clatter
of the keyboard would at least drown out the bad jokes.
                               END