The Old Sock Trick, Sandals, and The Visitor

This morning while walking in the desert I was accosted by either a woman sporting a beard, a man wielding a beard, or a hedgehog on stilts. It happened so fast, I can't, in truth, be sure. As I had forgotten to bring a golf club, a fire extinguisher, a picture of my wife naked, or a pot of boiling water on my daily stroll, I had to think quick, or fast. I suddenly recalled David slayed Goliath with a simple slingshot. I took off my right sandal and threw it in the air, which amazingly distracted my assailant. Suddenly, his features softened. I took off my sock, filled it with five twenty dollar bills, and beat my assailant about the head. But to no affect. Despairing of hitting his head continually with my sock, I asked if he had change of a twenty? He announced - with the aid of a late 19th-century speaking trumpet, that should have been present earlier - that he had a few nickels and quarters he would lend me. I thanked him, and we swapped our money. I then filled my sock with the coins. However, just as I was about to hit my assailant once again about the head, I was struck on the head by a flying sandal, and lost consciousness. When I awoke he was gone, and so was my sock. He left a note that read the complete works of Shakespeare, and said I owed him a nickel.

This afternoon an old friend dropped by to see me. We reminisced for a few minutes over several cups of coffee. I know it's more comfortable to sit on a chair; for a start it's cooler on one's posterior, but he didn't seem to mind. He told me about his fiancee, whom he described as possessing long legs, long white teeth, a long nose, a long memory, and enjoyed long conversations. In fact, everything he described about her started with the adjective "long". As I watched his mouth move - first toward my knee, and then toward a light fitting - I was certain their engagement would be short. I think he guessed it was time to leave when I went upstairs and returned with pyjamas on. It was 4:30 in the afternoon. As he drove away I waved my nightcap in the air. It was the least I could do. I forgot to ask why he had no teeth, one eye, and had enquired if I had a tin bath with ice, cold water? People can be strange.

Reflections: I remember a knock on the front door that resonated through our whole house, and my mum talking to a softly spoken man. "Something has happened to your dad!’ she exclaimed with a worried gaze. As she ran into the hall she cried out, ‘Get your coat - we’re going to the hospital . . . Mr Dorment is giving us a lift . . . quick!’

While travelling in the car, Mr Dorment, a hefty, crimson faced gentleman - who looked capable of exploding at any minute - advised that my father had fallen at work, and swallowed both rows of false teeth. His stomach had been x-rayed, and he was out of danger. I couldn't’t make head nor tail of it, but I could tell my mum was worried. Her face was red and white, like bunting.

After a few days in hospital, the teeth left my dad’s body the natural way. He never speaks about it, and neither do his teeth. I hope they give the teeth a good cleaning? My dad definitely doesn't smile as much as he used to. I suppose that's to be expected. His bedside table has a glass of water for his teeth, and a fake silicone head on a pole for his wig, eyebrows, beard, and earrings.