Teeth for two.

The strangest things can happen, and they usually happen to me. Take, for example, the time my little brother and I went to the Saturday matinee and ended up leaving it on our hands and knees. Anybody else would go to a movie, eat a bag of popcorn, and go home--no problem. Not us.

Everything would have been all right if it hadn't been for that gumball machine. Skippy noticed it as soon as we had paid for our tickets.

"Look, Susie," he said, "that machine is almost empty." Everybody knows that when a gum machine is nearly you can get the best prizes, sometimes two or three at a crank. So we stopped.

Skippy ended up with a pair of tiny binoculars and a deck of inch-high playing cards. I got a set of miniature false teeth.

"Trade you my binoculars for your teeth," Skippy whispered as we went into the dim theater.

I thought about it. "No deal. I'll trade for your cards, though."

"No deal ... well, maybe. Let me see them."

I handed over the teeth and promptly forgot about them as the lights went out and the movie started. It was a really good movie, but I never found out how it ended. About three-quarters of the way through, I began noticing something strange going on in the next row.

"What are you doing?" someone asked.

"I'm looking for my sister's false teeth," a familiar voice answered.

"What?"

"I'm looking for my sister's false teeth. They fell on the floor." Snickers and giggles issued from the surrounding seats. My toes curled in embarrassment.

"How old is your sister?" a motherly voice inquired.

"Twelve." By this time Skippy had worked his way up another row.

"Poor little thing." It was a fatherly voice this time. "Only twelve years old and wears false teeth. We'd better help you look."

Before long, half the people in the theater were crawling around looking for those stupid teeth. The usher came to see what the commotion was about and joined the search. I decided that there was only one thing to do.

I slipped out of my seat. Then I made my way, on my hands and knees, to Skippy. Now he was nearly at the front of the theater.

"Come on," I whispered, grabbing him by the collar. "Let's get out of here."

"What?" he said in surprise. "I haven't found your teeth yet. Besides, the movie isn't over yet."

"It is for us," I told him grimly. "Look around. If we don't get out of here fast, you may be hunting for your own teeth."

He peered into the surrounding dark, noticing the mass of people shuffling on their knees, groping under chairs and down aisles for my elusive false teeth.

"Oh."

He had gotten my point. Still on our knees, we quickly made our way up the aisle and out the door. Then we stood up and beat it across the lobby.

"Hey, sis, wait!" Skippy skidded to a halt by the ticket seller's booth.

"What's the matter now?"

"Well, I just thought, as long as we're going past," he said, grinning, "have you got any more change for the gum machine?"