Tuesday, June 19, 2012

The Puppeteer's Husband


"Um, dude!? There's a sock with buttons on it peeking through the window at us. What the hell is that?"

I laughed. "Oh don't worry; that's my wife. She's a sock puppet. She's probably pretending to do the dishes so she can stand close to the window and hear what we're talking about; just in case we're talking about her."

He was silent for quite some time. I took that as a sign that a new topic was at hand, and perhaps I should be the one to introduce it.

"So" I said; "How about this weird weather?"

"Your wife is a puppet?! What do you mean your wife is a puppet? And how could a puppet wash the dishes for god's sake?!"

Obviously, we weren't finished after all.

"Boy you should see her when she's in motion! She just dives right into the sink and goes at it! Socks are soft you know. There's nothing better than a sock puppet to make dishes shiny clean and sparkling, without the slightest scratch or mar" I said proudly.

He sat there, mouth agape, eyes buggy. I had to imagine he was thinking about finding his own sock puppet to do "his dishes", if you know what I mean.

"But" he stammered, "but how... why... how..." He swallowed and began again. "Can you even BE intimate with a sock?"

I blushed a bit. I'm a modest guy in the main, but he seemed sincere in his question. Yet I could only go so far.

"Well, I won't kiss and tell, but let's just say it has to do with knitting needles and a thimble. It's a little complicated...."

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