Page 15 - Lulu and Bob in Verbo City

“Whoo! I never realized Uncle took so many pills!”
Bob surveyed the disorderly ranks of medication bottles, boxes,
tubes and blister packs on the counter of the sink. Like the guest
bathroom, the plumbing appliances here had revealed no hideouts.
“I can’t believe he needs all these drugs and patent medicine,” said
Lulu, not wanting to touch any of it. “And I’ll bet most of it’s past
the expiration date.”
“That’s irrelevant,” Bob replied. “He won’t notice if we’ve looked
at all the labels. Don’t be so fastidious: I’ll do it.”
He turned each container so all the text could be seen, and then
turned it back to its original position. “See, it’s going fast.”
“Too fast,” said Lulu, tapping him on the head. He hated that; it
usually meant she had caught him out in some misdeed. “Go back to
that antihistamine.”
“Eh? This one, the Mucosec? There’s nothing here—oops! You’re
right, Lulu. I don’t know how I missed it.”
“I do,” she said, holding out the bag for “otorhinolaryngological.”
“You didn’t look under the rim of the childproof cap: there is
sufficient space for a skinny sesquipedalian to wrap itself around the
circumference of that indentation. And this one has a small enough
typeface to hang upside down without its feet showing; it’s as tight as
an O-ring, head to tail.” And she added sweetly, “Do you need
assistance in dislodging it?”
“No!” Bob was determined to one-up her. “See? All I have to do
is unscrew the cap and it becomes disoriented. As it tries to get back
to the bottle, where the product information appears, I can intercept
it without any pressure: easy as pie!”
They finished surveying the room in silence.

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