As she squeezed the little gelatinous blob of toothpaste out of the tube for the one hundred and fifty-seventh time that night she wondered if maybe she should just give up. But she knew that she could not rest until she had squeezed it out to form a perfect dollop with a curlicue on top, just like the man on the box had shown her. It had to be possible. If anyone in the world was not lying to her it would be him, the little man with the coke-bottle glasses and the calm-soothing voice, the man who looked so very much like a doctor she'd known when she was frail and small, him. He would not steer her wrong. And if she had to, she would squeeze out that little gelatinous blob one thousand times, until she got it right. On the one thousand and first time, she did it.
Her task complete, she tried to rest but still he called out to her, luring her to him with promises fashioned of space-age polymer with a money-back guarantee. Yes, she mumbled. Back, back. She had to come back, back to the happy world where youth lasted forever and the most talented of chefs could slice right through a shoe. And so she sat back down and watched as he showed her how for only three easy payments of $19.95 she could be beautiful again, and how if she acted now her days of scrambling eggs after she'd cracked them could be over forever.
She wanted all these lovely things. She wanted them because he told her she did, and that nice little man who looked so very much like a doctor could not lie to her. So she cursed her abs, that could never be hard as rock. She cursed her knives, that could never slice through a shoe. And she cursed her eggs, that would never know the joys of inside-the-shell scrambling, yet did not seem to care.
Teach me, she cried out into the blinking light, teach me about my personal power! I too want my tackle box to snap right into my pocket! I too want to experience the wild ecstasy of automatic juicing!
And he came to her, that nice little man with the coke-bottle glasses who looked exactly like a doctor. He showed her the way, and the world was at once red and green and blue and all was pretty and bright. She locked arms with him and fell into a mad embrace, but he was small, and heavy, and fragile, and fell with a crash to the ground.
The red, green and blue world was gone. That soothing voice was horribly silent. And all was cold and grey.
She stood there for a small eternity, staring at the shards of his broken body and trying in vain to understand what she had done to make him leave her. But his soothing voice had no easy answers to give her, and she knew that she was alone.
With a sigh as sharp as the shards on the floor she fell limply into the well-worn couch's soft embrace and reached out for another box. It was different, smaller. Its voice was soothing too, but she knew at once that it was her own. It was by a man named Tolstoy that someone had told her was very nice. She wondered what his glasses looked like.
Property of Orange Cow Productions. ninc., 1998. This piece may not be copied, reproduced, distributed, altered, forwarded, or otherwise worked with in any way without the express written consent of Orange Cow Productions, ninc.