My friend, Don, fed up with women,
chose a life size doll instead of a real woman
at an exorbitant cost of $3,000.
I said that’s a high price tag for a doll.
Don said, “It’s a bargain compared to how
much money I’ve blown on women.”
I let the conversation go at that,
but wondered if Don had lost his mind,
and, besides, I wondered what would
he and the doll he called Alma talk about?
I got the answer a week later when I
visited Don and Alma, and Don spoke to
her as if she was carrying on a conversation
with him.
A year later, Don got really crazy and said
Alma had died of cancer and he had buried
her in his backyard.
Two weeks later, Don showed up at my apartment
with a crazed look in his eyes.
“Alma’s haunting me!” he said.
I said, “Maybe you should see a shrink.”
Offended, Don stomped out of my apartment
and yelled he needed an exorcist and not a shrink.
Days later, worried about Don, I visited him at his
house and found him dead in his backyard with
a resurrected, dirt covered Alma on top of him.
The police said he died of a massive heart attack,
and joked about the doll, which I absconded with,
sprayed holy water on, and burned to ashes just in case.
Bob Boyd