Just Stupid! by Andy Griffiths and Terry Denton

snorts. ‘That’s what they told us at the hospital,’ he says, ‘but I think there must have been a mix-up.’
       ‘Really?’ I say. This could explain everything. ‘Do you think there’s any way of checking?’
       ‘Try the zoo,’ says the girl. ‘They’re probably looking for you right now.’
       ‘The zoo?’ I say. I guess it’s worth a try.
       I turn to the mother.
       ‘Would you be able to take me there?’ I say.
       ‘Where?’ she says.
       ‘To the zoo,’ I say.

       ‘No!’ she says. ‘What is the matter with you, Andy? Why all these stupid questions?’
       ‘I’ve lost my memory!’ I say. ‘I don’t know who I am. I don’t know who you are.’
       ‘Very funny,’ says the mother.
       ‘It’s true!’ I say. ‘I don’t think I’m who you think I am.’
       ‘This is a poor time for another one of your incomprehensible jokes, young man,’ says Big Ears. ‘You’re already skating on thin ice bringing home a report with five E’s.’
       ‘Five E’s?’ I say. ‘What’s wrong with five E’s? Doesn’t E stand for excellent?’
       The girl snorts.
       ‘Five E’s for EEEEEDIOT!’ she says.
       The mother sighs again.
       ‘What about that talk we had last night?’ she says. ‘Don’t you remember what you promised?’
       ‘No,’ I say. ‘That’s what I’m trying to tell you. I don’t remember anything.’
       Big Ears screws up his face.
       ‘So let me get this straight,’ he says. ‘You don’t remember anything?’
       ‘No,’ I say.
       ‘You don’t remember who you are?’

       ‘No.’
       ‘You don’t remember your name?’
       ‘I think it’s Andy,’ I say, ‘but only because that’s what everybody keeps calling me.’
       ‘I see,’ says Big Ears. ‘Well the best cure for amnesia is to do the things you normally do in a familiar environment. That should help jog your memory.’
       ‘But what sort of things do I normally do?’ I say. ‘I can’t remember. What am I like?’
       ‘Well for a start you’re really annoying,’ says the girl. ‘You play really dumb tricks and you do really stupid things.’
       ‘Really?’ I say.
       The mother laughs.
       ‘No, no, no,’ she says. ‘That’s just Jen having a little joke.’
       I was right. That girl is a troublemaker.
       The girl looks annoyed.
       ‘But, Mum,’ she says. ‘It’s true.’
       ‘That’s enough, Jen,’ says Big Ears. ‘Andy wants to know what sort of boy he really is. And we’re going to help him remember.’
       ‘Yes, please,’ I say, ‘tell me!’
       ‘Well,’ says the mother, ‘you’re very helpful. In fact, you’re never happier than when you’re helping others.’
       ‘I am?’
       ‘Yes,’ says the mother. ‘You just love housework.’
       ‘I do?’ I say.
       ‘But not just housework,’ says Big Ears. ‘You love working in the garden as well.’
       ‘Really?’ I say.
       ‘And you love being my slave and doing everything I tell you to do,’ says the girl.
       ‘I do?’ I say.
       ‘YES!’ they say.
       The mother hands me a pair of dishwashing gloves and a bottle of detergent. ‘The sooner you get started,’ she says, ‘the sooner you’ll get your memory back.’
     
    It’s 6pm. I’ve washed the dishes, mopped the floor, cleaned the cars, mowed the lawn, cleared out the gutters, vacuumed every room in the house, cut the girl’s toenails and sorted her CD collection into alphabetical order, but nothing has worked. I still don’t know who I am. All I know is I’m exhausted.
       Big Ears walks across the backyard towards me.
       He is holding a biscuit tin and an enormous metal spring with a doll’s head jammed on one end. ‘I assume this is yours,’ he says.

       It looks vaguely familiar.
       ‘It might be,’ I say. ‘What is it?’
       ‘I’m not sure,’ says Big Ears. ‘Looks like some