Selfie

“I’m looking for a selfie,” I told the salesperson enthusiastically.

“You mean you want a phone that takes selfies?” she asked.

“Yes, yes, I’m not interested in one that takes photos of my toothless uncle and other such garbage,” I said making my choice clear.

“You want one that just takes photos of your mug?” she asked.

“Quite right,” I replied.

“We have an entire range that takes photos of mugs, glasses, beer bottles and pots and pans you might have,” the salesperson said expansively.

“Only mugs,” I said politely, “my mug.”

“Why should you settle for a plain Jane?” she asked persuasively.

“I beg your pardon!” I exclaimed.

“I meant a plain phone that looks like Jane,” she said smoothly.

“Oh! Do you stock ones that are sex bombs?” I asked interestedly.

“We have some, they are dynamite!” the salesperson said, “but you will have to show me some ID first.”

“Why?” I asked.

“You never know with bombs, they could land up in the hands of terrorists.”

“Terrorists use sex bombs?” I asked awed.

“They use all kinds of bombs, even plastic,” she said.

“You mean like Barbie?” I asked.

“You never know what they have beneath their clothes,” the salesperson replied.

“I know, I know what they do with life-size dolls,” I smirked.

“We don’t sell them,” the salesperson replied, “just sex bombs for taking selfies.”

“Does it have a zoom lens, I want to see details,” I said.

“Yes it does, but I don’t know about Barbie,” the salesperson said doubtfully.

“Does she take selfies?” I asked.

“She does while she is in the shower,” the salesperson said, “she likes to shower her followers with selfies.”

“Is she narcissistic?” I asked.

“Very, she loves Narcissus too, the original selfie expert,” the salesperson said.

“Does she use a selfie stick too?” I questioned.

“Whenever Narcissus threatens to break up with her,” she said.

“And have they ever done so?” I asked in wonder.

“They did once when the shutter malfunctioned,” the salesperson said, “but they took it to a garage and had it cleaned, soaped and oiled.”

“Does Barbie need oiling too?”

“Yes, when she fails to flutter her eyelashes at Narcissus, he takes her to a nearby stream and makes her watch her own reflection,” the salesperson said informatively.

“Oh! But that’s not oiling!”

“No, it’s not, but It makes her perception clearer about love, free love and from being swept off one’s feet when bathing nude,” she said.

“Doesn’t she know how to swim?” I asked surprised.

“Narcissus told her how to take selfies, but not how to swim against the tide come Hell or high water.”

“What has Barbie to do will Hell?” I asked.

“Nothing much except that the Devil is taking a cue or two from her to beat the heat,” the salesperson said.

“You mean in two piece bathing suits?” I asked flabbergasted.

“That’s the problem, he is unable to tuck in his tail,” the salesperson said.

“Does he frequently tuck in his tail” I questioned.

“Only when taking selfies,” she said.

“He must be very technologically advanced,” I commented.

“Hell would have been a technopolis now,” she replied, “except that the Devil keeps throwing a spanner into the works every time the temperature goes beyond 1000 degrees Celsius.”

“You mean the Devil loses his cool sometimes?” I asked.

“Whenever he is tickling Barbie,” the salesperson said.

“Then he must be a ticklish fellow,” I remarked.

“Except when he is boiling souls,” the salesperson said.

“How does he do that?” I asked amazed.

“With a bunsen burner and a test tube of course,” she said, “but he uses matchsticks to light his pipe during lunch.”

“Doesn’t he know that smoking is injurious to health?”

“Barbie frequently tells him that when he takes selfies with her in the moonlight.”

“She could give the Devil the selfie stick,” I said.

“Barbie did and the Devil had a devil of a time in getting it unstuck from his bottom,” the salesperson said.

“Why did he want to take a selfie of his bottom?”

“The Devil wanted to take one from the bottom of his heart,” she explained.

“That’s his bottom line then?” I asked.

 “No, no the bottom line is the Plimsoll Line as they have on ships,” the salesperson said.

“You’re sure it’s not the Maginot Line?” I asked.

“The French wished they could take selfies there,” the salesperson said, “but the Germans beat them to it and began taking selfies themselves.”

 “Oh!”

“And Barbie sang ‘We’re gonna hang out the washing on the Siegfried Line’,” she said.

“Barbie must have been very pally with the Germans,” I said.

“Yes, since she appeared as Wonderwoman and as Startrek fiftieth anniversary dolls,” the salesperson said.

“Did she take selfies as Wonderwoman or as Startrek?” I asked.

“Yes, it left all the other dolls manufactured in Nazi Germany awestruck,” the salesperson said.

“Was Barbie a Nazi too?” I questioned.

“No, she wasn’t, but their cousins, the paparazzi, wanted to take selfies with her,” the salesperson said.

“She must have been a hit,” I remarked.

“That is when Narcissus put his foot down and accidentally trod on her toe,” she said.

“Barbie could have been accident prone,” I suggested.

“She was, while she was called Bild Lilli, but she stopped being called that after she showed no interest in playing the ukelele,” the salesperson said.

“What did she play then?” I questioned.

“Why the mobile phone of course!”

“Oh!”

“She made ringtones and asked Barbie, who is a soprano, to sing them.”

“Did she sing ‘Ring, Ring’ that Abba was always singing about?” I asked enthusiastically.

“No, that was the cash register ringing for the Mattel Toy Company,” the salesperson said, “ever since they figured out what her figure should be like.”

“Very girlish I figure,” I remarked.

“Barbie would look nicer with a mobile phone,” the salesperson said, “But Barbie doesn’t have one.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because she is hooked to the telephone, she loves to get hooked,” she said.

“Hook, line and sinker?” I asked.

“Not unless she gets a call from Narcissus about the telephone bill while playing hooky with Alexander Graham Bell,” the salesperson said.

“Then she must be a hooker,” I remarked.

“She is, millions of kids and adults are hooked on her,” the salesperson said.

“For taking selfies with her?” I asked.

“Unless she gives them the selfie stick,” she said.

“Very unselfish of her,” I commented.

“No she doesn’t sell fish, but she sells very well,” the salesperson said correcting me.

“It would have been fishy if Barbie was caught selling fish, but perhaps it would have been all right if she went fishing,” I said.

“She does that with Narcissus whenever he calls up about unpaid mobile bills,” she said.

“Why does he call?”

“To fish for compliments in troubled waters,” the salesperson said.

“What about fishing in still waters that run deep?” I asked.

“That’s when Narcissus takes to drink,” she said.

“Drinking is bad for health, doesn’t he know?” I asked.

“He did, but Narcissus was only drinking a toast to Barbie’s figure,” she replied.

“It couldn’t have been a toast, a toast has no figure,” I objected, “anyway it should not drink.”

“Just a dry martini, it’s not fattening,” the salesperson said, “even Barbie drinks it.

“Give a martini an inch, and it’ll take a mile to work off, I don’t trust martinis an inch,” I said emphatically, “they are as bad as gin and vermouth.”

“You should not badmouth vermouth, it’s not as bad as all mouth and no trousers,” the salesperson said.

“You mean vermouth makes you go singing in the rain without trousers?” I gawked.

“Narcissus does that when he is playing hooky with another doll,” she said.

“But he must get wet!” I exclaimed.

“He is wet behind the ears,” the salesperson said.

“That’s from going swimming with Barbie of course,” I commented.

“Narcissus also gets tanned sometimes,” she mused, “after getting into hot water with Barbie and forgetting to take a selfie.”

“You mean she wallops him?” I asked surprised.

“No, no she makes him swallow a hot water bottle after frolicking with him in the water,” she said.

“Barbie must be very deep,” I remarked.

“See goes off the deep end too when Narcissus is not looking,” she said.

“Must be a deep sea diver,” I commented.

“She is never at sea, she is always high.”

“What do you mean she is high? How many pegs does she drink?”

“Barbie does not use pegs, but heels that make her high,” the salesperson said, adding, “and mighty too.”

“Does Narcissus have the same affection for her when she is high and mighty?” I asked.

“That’s when he runs off and moans at his reflection in the water,” the salesperson said.

“Does he not take selfies then?” I questioned.

“He takes two tablets for gas and then takes selfies,” she said.

“It could be methane too,” I said seriously, “very bad for health.”

“Barbie gave Narcissus an aqualung to prevent him from getting smothered, but his heart is set on a heart-lung machine,” the salesperson said.

“That’s expensive, he must be crying his heart out,” I said.

“He tried to tear his heart out too and almost went bald,” she said.

“One must not cry over spilt milk when one is going bald, one does not produce the milk of human kindness in adequate quantity then,” I commented philosophically.

“And it is no use splitting hairs when the scalp is not lactating,” the salesperson agreed.

I nodded agreement.

“But do you want this phone or not or do you need the selfie stick to make your bald head lactate when the cows come home?”

“No thanks, let’s not split hairs, you can safely put that selfie stick up your backside when no one is watching,” I said cheerily and left.