Arbitrarily Mr. Chips decided to attend the local winter parade the town holds. In years past we avoided the parade due to Mr. Chips' rather unnatural aversion to floats. He always said that if we had been meant to float we'd be made of water. I've long since given up disputing basic biological facts with him. He can be quite obstinate when he so wishes.

We munched on scones as we made our way to the parade. Mr. Chips made sure to pack some earplugs in case the whole affair was too rowdy. I ventured to once again suggest that we could retire back to our flat and listen to a Bach suite or two, but he was quite determined to be "culturally broadened, floats be damned" (as he so colloquially put it).

We managed to procure rather fine viewing spots and settled down for a grand parade. I attempted to converse with the lady next to me, but she was quite intent on disciplining her rather unruly child. Mr. Chips commented that he would never have kids. I noted that the adoption agencies would not allow it. He agreed saying that such agencies were biased against Chihuahuas and that all the Chihuahuas he knew were more competent than most humans. I had to concede that point to him.

As soon as the parade started, Mr. Chips wandered off, leaving me alone to the high school bands and clumsy majorettes. There was a produce float, a 4-H float, and a county library float, etc. etc. At one point the pee-wee bowling team's float toppled over, but they managed to right it rather quickly.

The last float had the city councilmen on it. By then the crowd had dwindled to me, a few children, and Mildred the local tanner. And there on the float was Mr. Chips, riding point, looking quite proud of himself.

Afterwards he said the float wasn't as much fun as Ferris Bueller made it out to seem and he was rather disappointed.