The end of the party was nowhere to be
seen. Morning has broken, and that was when things started to
happened.
“Would you mind your own business,”
I heard a voice.
“My business is all yours,” another
answered.
I turned around. A tall giraffe was
arguing with a monkey, high on the tree above her.
“If your business is mine, how come
you're sitting in my tree,” asked the giraffe.
“I was here first,” sulked the
monkey.
“No you were not,” insisted the
giraffe, as she started climbing up the lower branches.
“It's my tree, it's mine,” called
the monkey in agitation. Then, he picked up an apple and tossed it at
the giraffe. The apple bounced off the the giraffe, and hit an old
lady, who was fervently clipping badges to her yellow apron.
“She is turning all green,”
screamed the monkey, fleeting up the canopy.
“Let me help you Dear,” offered the
giraffe, and with all his might tried to pull off the apple.
He failed, and this is the reason that
until this very day, old ladies with green hair, carry giraffes
whenever they stand under an apple tree.
The end.
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