The Pram

There was a knock on my door.

“Oh hello,” said a salesman standing outside the door.

“What can I do for you?” I questioned.

“I have brought you a pram, Sir,” he began enthusiastically.

“A bicycle knocked down my false teeth the other day,” I said disgustedly, “and you want me to buy a pram!”

“You will be safer travelling in a pram,” the salesman said soothingly.

“How do I know that a reckless pram driver will not try to overtake me at the traffic lights?”

“Just look at this way, people of your age are prone to mislay their false teeth and when you are down on all fours trying to find them the traffic light turns red,” he said.

“How does a pram help?” I asked baffled, “Will it stop the police from giving me a ticket?”

“Traffic policemen never book prams, even if you are speeding to locate your lost teeth,” he explained.

“But how will I fit into a pram?” I asked turning my attention to it.

“They are made especially for the senile, dim-witted, and numskulls,” he said kneading my head with his fingers.

“What are you doing that for?” I asked annoyed.

“To see if you are going soft in the head, Sir, in that case, we will give you a free psychiatric evaluation,” he said.

“Do you think I’m soft in the head?” I asked nervously.

“That depends on whether you eat hard boiled eggs or soft boiled eggs,” he remarked.

“I like hard boiled ones, the soft boiled ones give me a crick in the neck,” I replied.

“There you see, Sir, how essential a pram is to resolve the issue of a crick in the neck,” the salesman said.

I gulped.

“After dinner, you should drive the pram over cobblestones, it will relieve the crick in your neck and also cure your hernia,” he said smilingly.

“But I shan’t have a doll in the pram,” I made it clear.

“You need have no worries about that, we provide someone who will push the pram for you and change your nappies if required,” he gushed.

“Who will pull the pram?” I questioned.

“Not pull, but push,” the salesman corrected.

“Who will push and deliver the pillow talk?” I questioned.

“A blonde orangutan.”

“Don’t you have brunettes?”

“Then you need a brunette chimpanzee, Sir.

“Do they bite?” I asked warily.

“Not unless you forget to tell them bedtime stories and sing them a lullaby when it’s time to sleep.”

“Can they locate missing false teeth?” I enquired, “I frequently misplace them.”

“Did you say Ms Place?” the salesman asked.

“I did.”

“We have a Ms Place, but she is very expensive.”

“Hang the expense, tell me more about this Ms Place,” I said eagerly.

“She will take you out for a stroll to the nightspots, hotspots, show you leopard spots and the spotted owl and also hunt for your false teeth.”

“That’s interesting,” I remarked.

“Does Ms Place drive?” I asked.

“She drives prams very well, you neighbour’s neighbour loves her because she takes him to all the nightspots,” the salesman said.

“What about my neighbour is he a saint?” I asked.

“He does not need a pram,” the salesman said, “he just needs to be kept on a leash when his tongue gets dry cleaned.”

“I always knew he was up to no good when he visited the laundry,” I seethed. “Have you sold my neighbour a pram?”

“It was he who said ‘your need is greater than mine’ and gave me your address,” the salesman said, 

“That’s why I’m calling on you.”

“You could have at least sold him a tricycle,” I said sourly.

“He says that it's not fast enough to chase skirts,” the salesman replied regretfully.

“And do you think a pram would be fast enough,” I remarked disdainfully.

“There’s no need for prams to chase skirts, skirts always chase prams and utter endearments,” he said.

“Then you mustn't sell my neighbour a pram, he has no moral character,” I told the salesman warningly, “He that is born a fool by c-section is never cured.”

“That’s why your neighbour was asking whether the pram was in sections and had to be assembled in an operation theatre,” the salesman mused.

“A fool born by c-section is in unchartered waters after the alphabet d,’” I remarked.

Just then, my neighbour walked in as the door was open.

“Just came to borrow some butter, jam and milk and it would be nice if you also had boiled eggs,” he said with a cheerful smile.

“Did you send this gentleman over?” I enquired nastily pointing to the salesman.

“I did, he will sell you a pram, you always contend you missed yours since you were this high,” he said affably.

“I will not let you ride my pram,” I said shaking my head.

“I will only borrow it if Ms Place drops in for a drop and I need to drop her home,” he explained.

“I will not have you misplace Ms Place,” I said hotly, “either at my place or yours.”

“When you get angry, you look like an orangutan,” my neighbour said looking at me with interest.

“More like a baboon, I think,” the salesman said scratching his nose thoughtfully.

“Why don’t you take him to the zoo and have him dissected?” my neighbour asked the salesman.

“I don’t think that they dissect baboons when they are alive,” the salesman told him.

“Then you can have a c-section done on him,” my neighbour barked.

“But he is not even pregnant,” the salesman pointed out.

“He seems to be dripping with the milk of human kindness,” I said indicating my neighbour.

“That’s milk all right,” my neighbour admitted, “I blew up the stove while I was boiling it.”

 “I’m not going to give you milk,” I said at once.

“Are you a cow, Sir?” questioned the salesman in surprise.

“I’m not a cow, nor do I give milk,” I said stiffly.

“But what about the butter, jam and milk?” asked my neighbour.

“I ran out of the milk of human kindness,” I said dryly.

“At least you could give me butter and jam then,” he insisted.

“You should have brought your pram, otherwise how will you take it?” I taunted.

“Never thought of that,” said my neighbour scratching his head.

“You can buy this pram, Sir,” the salesman said brightly.

“I only buy by the pound,” my neighbour informed him.

“I could give you a pounding or two,” the salesman said showing off his biceps.

“Now, now, need we get violent?” asked my neighbour backing off.

“I always get violent, when I can’t sell a pram,” the salesman said gnashing his teeth.

“My! You have teeth like a bulldog!” My neighbour exclaimed.

“You called me a dog?” he asked gnashing his teeth some more.

“I … I … meant a bull,” my neighbour said weakly.

“Cock and bull more likely,” I said, “could be a baboon too.”

“Are you calling me a baboon, you orangutan,” he said turning angrily on me.

“Let’s stick to the pram,” I said cleverly, “my neighbour will buy it.”

“But I only came for butter, jam and milk!” my neighbour exclaimed.

“Then you better buy the pram and shove the butter, jam and milk in it,” the salesman said with a gleam in his eyes.

“I’m not giving you butter or jam or milk,” I said putting my foot down.

“I always knew you were a stingy, penny-pinching, parsimonious, skinflint,” my neighbour shouted.

“And you’re a gross, two-timing, shameless goat who won’t buy a pram when it is practically being given away free,” I said spiritedly.

“You need to have a c-section done on your bottom,” my neighbour cried.

“Enough,” said the salesman, “let’s toss a coin and see who gets to keep the pram.”

“Nothing doing,” I snapped, “what will I do with a pram?”

“That’s not for you, it’s for your children,” the salesman remarked.

“And for their children,” my neighbour added.

“Bachelor’s don’t have children,” I replied annoyed.

“They can have them on the sly,” the salesman added, “or have test tube babies and they will certainly need a pram.”

“Will you scram?” I asked the salesman ominously.

“Not with the pram,” he said stoutly.

“You can dismantle it can’t you?” I asked disarmingly.

“Certainly I can,” he said.

“It will be easier then to cram all its nuts and bolts up your backside if you don’t remove the pram from my premises, take my neighbour with you and shut the door after you,” I said happily.