There’s no arm in asking

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“STOP. Everybody stop.”

“What’s up, Dad?”

“Straight ahead. Either there’s a Polar Bear right in front of us or my name’s not – erm. Oh, no!”

“What’s up, Dad?”

“I can’t remember my name.”

“What d’you mean, you can’t remember your name.”

“Who said that?”

“Me.”

“Do I know you?”

“Course you do. I’m your son.”

“I have a son?”

“Okay, Dad. You’re scaring me now, and I don’t want the rest to start – you know what they’re like.”

“Got you going for a while there, didn’t I?”

“Yes, Dad, you did. Now, what’s this about a polar bear?”

“It’s a big one, Son. Deserves capital letters.”

“Okay. What’s this about a Polar Bear?”

“Can’t you see it ahead? Big and white.”

“Might be the abdominal snowman.”

“What?”

“Abdominal snowman.”

“Do you mean Abominable Snowman?”

“Properly.”

“Probably.”

“Yeah, whatever.”

“The Abominable Snowman, if it exists, is in the Himalayas, not the Alps.”

“And Yeti’s stood right in front of you.”

“So it seems.”

“Be nice, Dad. Go up to him, show respect and offer him your hand.”

“I did – and he bloody took it. How can I hold my sticks now?”

“I’ll hold ’em for you.”

“You need to hold your own, Son.”

“How am I supposed to hold my own against a bloomin’ polar bear – sorry, Polar Bear?”

“Alright – bored now.”


This was written in response to Kreative Kue 239 published on this site.

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