Bernard walked into his local hardware store, looking like he’d wrestled a badger and lost. His eyes were puffy, his nose was red, and he kept sniffing dramatically.
“Morning, Bernard,” chirped Mildred from behind the counter, her silver spectacles perched on her nose. “You look like you’ve been crying, husband, empty bed?”
Bernard sighed, a sound that seemed to rattle the dust from the ceiling fan. “You have no idea, Mildred. It’s Brenda, my inflatable dinosaur.”
Mildred blinked. “Brenda? Your…inflatable dinosaur?”
“Yes!” Bernard wailed. “She’s… she’s deflated. Gone flat! I woke up this morning, and she was just… a sad, rubbery puddle on the floor. It’s a tragedy, Mildred. A tragedy!”
Mildred, ever the professional, cleared her throat. “Well, Bernard, sometimes these things happen. Perhaps a slow leak? Maybe your cat, Mittens, got a little too curious?”
“Mittens loved Brenda!” Bernard protested. “They were inseparable! Mittens used to use her tail as a scratching post! Besides,” he added in a hushed tone, “I patched every conceivable hole months ago. She was practically airtight!”
Mildred pondered for a moment, stroking her chin. “Well, what brings you here, then? To mourn Brenda’s passing, or to acquire a replacement?”
Bernard sniffled again. “Neither. I need a pump. A really, really powerful pump. One that can handle industrial-sized inflatables.”
Mildred raised an eyebrow. “And what exactly do you need that for, Bernard?”
Bernard looked down at his feet, shamefaced. “Well,” he mumbled, “after Brenda went down, I noticed… my wife’s inflatable flamingo. She says it needs… a little… pick-me-up.” Mildred leaned across the counter. “And is that the one you sleep with?” Bernard burst out crying. Mildred shook her head and said “Well, at least she can tell the truth if someone asks her if you two have an open relationship!”
