Rascal & Frank: Stuffed dogs
These were our two other pets. She gave me Rascal as an anniversary gift; I bought Frank for her at the airport on the way home from Germany.
“Where’d you get him?” she asked me.
“A German whore gave it to me,” I jested.
She loved our little stuffed boys. What she didn’t quite like was when I bought collars for each of them and took them outside for walks.
“Mommy,” Rascal said. “Why don’t you think we’re real?”
“Because your Daddy’s insane,” Andie replied.
“Do you want us to go to Daddy’s place and kill that cat?” Frank offered.
“Yes!” Andie said. “Please do.”
“Wow,” Rascal said, turning to Frank. “Mommy’s evil.”
“Mommy is allergic to the cat,” she said. “So Daddy’s the evil one because he apparently wants to kill Mommy.”
“But, Mommy,” Frank said. “We’re both chock full of dust mites, which you’re also allergic to.”
“But, Frank,” she said, “That’s why I wash you so…will you stop it! I can’t believe I’m talking to stuffed animals.”