He was reading the newspaper, browsing through department store ads for sales of shampoo, when the number caught his eye. A free sweepstakes giveaway, with the opportunity to win $1000 and a lifetime supply of puppy chow. The money would be nice; he could finally buy a plane ticket out of here and get away from that crazy woman. As for the puppy chow�yeah he�d probably eat it. It�s not so bad with mustard.
It was when he was reaching for the phone to dial the toll-free number that she burst through the door with a loud squeal, followed immediately by �Darling, I�m home!!� There on the polished tile she stood, her hair too big and too red, her heels too high and her skirt far too short; the girl he was going to marry. Or, one of them, at least. She was holding a large, tattered, pungent cardboard box with small holes in the top.
�You�ll never ever guess what I bought at the market today!� she cried with delight, dropping the box unceremoniously on the floor with an audible squish. But before she could continue, she was pulled back violently to the door, which her large red locks were trapped in.
�Uh-oh�I shut my hair in the door again,� she whined sheepishly. Her tone changed considerably when she added, "Slave person, release me from the clutches of this monstrous piece of wood!"
He leapt from his seat and hurried to her side, fearful of what should happen to his ears (and the windows) if she started shrieking. He grasped the doorknob and pulled. Nothing happened. It was locked from the other side. Cursing, he pulled harder, twisting and struggling, but the door wouldn�t budge.
�What�s wrong?! Is it stuck?!� she asked frantically, �Oh no! I�m going to die here aren�t I? I�m going to spend the rest of my life attached to this hideous door! ALL HOPE IS LOST! MERCY ME!! SUCH A CRUEL AND UNDESERVING FATE!!
He suggested cutting her hair off. She slapped him. He began to fight with the door more, vowing to kill the idiot carpenter who had installed the doorknob backwards. It was then that he remembered the hammer. He had used it earlier that morning in his failed attempt to construct a new computer desk. The old one was too low--it interfered with his �typing.�
�Hold on,� he told her, and he rushed to climb through the kitchen window. If he could get to the front door of the house, he could find the hammer in the living room and bring it to the kitchen to break the doorknob off. Several wasted minutes and half a dozen unforgiving bumps to the head later, he ultimately gave up, swearing to kill yet another carpenter--the one who had installed the window, which was too small, and cursing his mother�s gene pool for making his butt too big.
But when he turned around, she was free.
�How the heck did you get out of there?!� he asked indignantly.
�Oh,� she replied nonchalantly, �Extensions. Them come right off. Guess I just forgot about them. Anyway, I have to show you what I bought at the market!� She ushered him excitedly to the box on the floor, which was growling and bouncing about. �Well, you know that gypsy fair that came to town recently? I told the limo driver to take me through there, just in case they were doing anything illegal, so I could join in on the fun. You should have seen it! It was so cute! They had all these starving little children all dressed up to look poor and stuff, and these weird old women in clown costumes, and all these marvelous crafts! I tried to buy some...�
�You tried to buy some crafts?� he asked, indicating the box, which was now making farting noises.
�Oh, no no no,� she answered quickly, �I tried to buy some gypsies. They wouldn�t let me though; some crap about human rights or something. Anyway, there was this old man there, supposedly, who use to do a little monkey act. He died a few days ago--I think an elephant sat on him. Or a very large woman. They were all speaking Cantonese or something so I couldn�t quite tell. So, out of the shear kindness of my heart, and an unbearable desire to see our housemates annoyed as much as humanly possible, I bought the old man�s monkey!�
'And to think she said all that in one breath,' he thought. She triumphantly opened the lid to the box, revealing proudly a rather pitiful creature.
�Isn�t he the cutest thing?� she asked with glee. The monkey anything but cute. Its fur was tangled and matted, one eye was yellow--the other was missing, as were several teeth, and it was coated with an unidentifiable brown mess that he prayed was mud.
�Wait! We can�t have a monkey,� he protested, �Don�t they�um�you know, throw...stuff?�
�What? Oh, no. This one is housetrained,� she explained, �He knows to only make poopsie on newspapers.�
�Wait�newspapers?!� he gasped. Panic ensued the moment he noticed the monkey was gone. He looked around frantically, only to find that the wicked little beast had already made its way to the kitchen table�and was now making �poopsie� on his $1000-sweepstakes. He dropped to his knees, collapsing into strangled sobs. His ticket to freedom had been destroyed by the actions of a vicious little monster.
�Why me? My hopes. My dreams. My dog food! God, where is that stupid hammer?!�