“What’s the password?” Charlie whispered as he crouched over the keyboard, a silly grin on his cherub-like face.
“Bluebell. All caps.”
“Like the ice cream?” he questioned gleefully.
Laurie chuckled at her younger brother’s exuberance over the mere mention of ice cream. “No Charlie, like the flower. What difference does it make?”
“I dunno. Just wondering.” With index fingers Charlie slowly typed B-L-U-B-E-L-L and pressed ENTER. Re-enter password appeared on the computer screen. “Doesn’t work,” he announced firmly.
“How did you spell it?”
“B-L-U-B-E-L-L,” Charlie replied.
“It has two E’s,” Laurie stated patiently.
Charlie typed again. B-L-U-B-E-L-L-E. “Still doesn’t work. Why did you pick a password like blubelle anyway? Too many ways to spell it.”
“That’s the point Charlie. It’s a password. Shouldn’t be too easy. Bluebell is the name I chose for my first pet.”
“When did you have a pet?” Charlie inquired.
“When you were still in diapers. It was a kitten.”
“Why did you name her Blubelle?”
“Because she wouldn’t drink milk so I gave her Blue Bell ice cream.”
“Really?” Charlie asked with amazement, totally gullible to his sister’s stories. “Vanilla or strawberry?”
“Just type Charlie,” Laurie instructed with a sigh.
“I did and it didn’t work. Why don’t I remember Blubelle?”
“Because Mom is allergic to cats so I couldn’t keep her. Charlie, are you going to put in the password or not? Just type B-L-U-E-B-E-L-L!”
“Oh, that explains it!” Charlie typed B-L-U-E-B-E-L-L and pressed ENTER. “I thought you told me the wrong password.”
PHOTO: This kitten was found in the crawlspace under our daughter’s home. The mama cat was dead. Our grandduaghter named him Beau and our family took turns feeding him kitten formula (not ice cream – it’s not good for kittens) with an eyedropper until he grew strong enough to eat on his own.