“Hmmm,” she mused (muses mused, interesting fact) “only if I can jump in the nude.”
My bottom lip sagged to the floor and flies as far away as the Okavango Delta flew in, bred and hatched in my mouth.
“Are you serious? As an author I disassociate myself from this haphazard scheme.” was the best I could come up with.
“You tend to forget that I am a figment of your imagination, dear. Normal people can’t see me unless you put words to paper and that has been sadly lacking the last couple of days,” she said as she looked down her nose at me.
I felt like an ant about to be stepped on.
“I know but in my defence…” I started only to be rudely interrupted.
“No ifs ands or buts about it. Suck it up and deal with it. I am jumping in the nude: I have always wanted to feel the wind against my bare skin. This is the perfect opportunity, don’t you think? According to your facial expression, I can see you agree. Please shut your mouth, dear, the flies really are going at it in there. Now run along and get dressed, we leave in half an hour,” she said as she stomped to the kitchen to make a super sized Dagwood sandwich.
The flies previously mentioned bred and hatched a fourth generation as I stared at her back. The kitchen door expanded around her shape and twanged back to normal as she sailed through. Reality seemed to bend and stretch whenever she was around.
This was going to end badly, I just knew it. Nevertheless, I did as she asked as the alternative scared me even more.
Read more about where missing socks go here http://uncyclopedia.wikia.com/wiki/The_Place_Where_All_The_Missing_Socks_Go