If I was king I would use my vast power to make it illegal to allow the blueberry packagers to use those clear plastic boxes.

Invariably I meet disaster when I try to get the box open and sprinkle some on my puffed hay when I fix my breakfast.

I did it again this morning. The flimsy box defies opening as it has a snap open-and-close system. The box itself is like holding squirming live tamale and as usual this morning, it popped open and the blue pellets cascaded to the kitchen floor.

This meant I had to pick them all up, one at a time, and that is hard to do as my wife has a small carpet with mostly blue design.

It is a nightmare, as I like to conceal my clumsiness from Elsbeth who never drops anything and has eyes like a kingfisher.

Sure enough, she came flouncing down a few minutes later and the first thing she does is look down at the floor. She does not say anything at first so I try to pretend I am busy drinking my coffee. She then bends down and I cringe but ask her, "Wussa matter?"

Then she said she felt something through her slipper.

"Oh, no," I said to me. "I must have missed one and she stepped on it and they make a messy mark."

Rather than wait for a priest, I confessed that I had spilt the whole package and that when I had picked them all up, I had held the bratty little balls under the tap and washed them thoroughly and furthermore we had better never again buy them unless they change the packaging.

She couldn't find any messy glob so she said there was no harm done as she had scrubbed the floor yesterday.

Then as I went back to reading the paper I noted that she was quietly carrying the blue throw rug into the laundry room.

I decided to let the matter drop.