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  • Murv The Purv…

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    Continued from: Enhanced Husband Torture Techniques…

    Part 2 of 2…

    Return with us now to the thrilling days of a Christmas past – When last we left our intrepid blogger, he had asked his wife – the evilest of all evil redheads, Queen Eebil Kat – what manner of offering she demanded be left beneath the sacred scratching post tree on Eebil Katsmas Eve. Her  demand was, of course, for nothing less than “Cool Socks”. Unbeknown to our lovable curmudgeon, Queen Eebil Kat was hatching a sinister plan which would place him in serious peril – a peril she would use for her personal amusement while she laughed and filed her nails…

    katshoozOkay… Everyone all caught up? Good. Let’s get on with this, because it’s painful for me to even think about.

    So, I was feeling pretty good with this. “Cool Socks”. Definitely couldn’t be that hard. I’d been in the sock room before, so I knew what generally constituted cool in her eyes. I also knew her shoe size, so if the socks were for some reason classified by actual sizes, I could cross reference it somewhere.

    I was all good. I’d already ordered up another gift she had made noises about throughout the year, so the socks were going to be the perfect distraction. Truth is, I was more than good. I was flat out golden.

    Then, as they say, the hangin’ day came round… (Who is they? Mason Proffit, of course…)

    At any rate, I cleared a bit of my schedule one day so that I could run to the store. Now, I didn’t imagine it would take long for me to obtain the sacred socks, but just to be on the safe side, since it WAS the Christmas (aka Katsmas) season after all, I scheduled myself the whole late morning and early afternoon to accomplish said task.

    Now, something you need to understand about me is this: I absolutely hate shopping. Despise it. Seriously. I am one of those folks who knows exactly what he is after, goes to get it at the least busy time of day he can find, then zips in and right back out of the store, avoiding all unnecessary contact with insane shoppers that he can. The only – and I mean ONLY time I enjoy shopping is when I take E K to a nice store and do the whole “Pretty Woman” thing with her.

    1. Because she is, in point of fact, pretty. EXTREMELY pretty. (Wayyyyyy prettier than Julia Roberts if you ask me.)
    2. Because I get to sit in one place and watch. Not much crowd dodging involved. Life is good. E K gets new pretty clothes, I get to relax and watch a hottie trying on said clothes. The only thing that would make it better is a cooler full of beer.

    Unfortunately this particular spree did not fall into the “E K / Pretty Woman” category. It did, however, fall into the “must obtain offering for the Eebil Queen” category. And, I’m all about making sure The Evil One is placated, lest I end up whimpering in the back of a closet with a variety of size 7 woman’s shoe prints all up and down my torso.

    So, with my schedule cleared, off to the mall I went.

    Not being a regular shopper for women’s wear, I wandered aimlessly through a couple of the stores at Northwest Plaza. Up the escalator I went. Down the escalator I went. Wander, wander, wander… Dodge, dodge, dodge… Up, down… Down, up… Wander some more.

    Then I frowned really hard. Why? Because I found no cool socks. In fact, the only socks I managed to find were mens tube socks, six in a bag, your choice, black or white.

    Definitely not cool.

    So, with my shoulders starting to slump, I started again through the mall and decided to bite the bullet. I would go into one of the high dollar department stores. I don’t want to name it here, but let’s just say the first half of the name is a kind of pickle and the second half rhymes with “cards”.

    We had played pretty woman here before, so surely they, of all stores, would have “cool socks” befitting of Queen Eebil Kat.

    Pissed Off Old LadyI did the up, down, wander around thing a bit more. Then, like the point of a shovel striking a buried chest, I rounded a corner and found, yes, you guessed it, socks. But, that wasn’t all. As I made a beeline toward this treasure trove of offerings for my Evil Queen, I met what you might call resistance. You see, just as pirates buried dead dudes with their treasure chests, apparently big, fancy stores bury dead, angry salesladies with their socks. Before I had made it two steps into the department, the departed souls of one of them popped right up in my face. With the path to my prize blocked, I immediately took evasive action and tried to sidestep her. Well, apparently the angry spirits of dead old salesladies are pretty nimble, because I didn’t make it an inch before she was right there barring my way. I tried feinting to one side and then shifting to the other, but it was like she could read my mind. I simply wasn’t getting in.

    I stopped and stood there for a moment, while the sales zombie looked me over, then she opened her mouth. I started to back up, fearing that she was going to try to eat my brain, but instead she simply barked with unmistakable disdain, “Can I help you?!”

    You could just tell by the way she said it that she had to have been a redhead before all the color drained out of her.

    “Socks,” I said. “I need to by some socks.”

    “Mens apparel is downstairs,” she growled.

    “They aren’t for me,” I replied.

    She eyed me with suspicion then demanded, “Who are they for?”

    “My wife.”

    “Your wife?” She didn’t sound as though she believed me.

    I couldn’t help myself. I was starting to get a bit impatient so I blurted, “Did I stutter?”

    “Don’t be a smartass or I’ll eat your face!” she hissed in return.

    “Yes ma’am.”

    Continuing with her interrogation she spat, “Why are you buying socks for your wife?”

    “A Katsma… I mean Christmas present.”

    “Present? Socks?” There was absolutely no mistaking the fact that she didn’t believe me at all this time.

    “Yeah, she said she wanted some cool socks.”

    “Cool socks? What do you mean, cool socks?”

    “You know. Socks with interesting patterns. Argyle. That sort of thing.”

    “Yeah, right,” she mumbled, standing there working her jaw and smacking her lips. I imagine she was trying to get an errant bit of brains from the last poor schmuck dislodged from her false teeth. She looked me over in silence twice more, then stepped aside. “These are all the socks we have.”

    “Thank you,” I said, slipping past her to inspect the rows of polka dotted, striped, argyled, fuzzy, and otherwise “cool” feminine foot coverings.

    Now, not having an absolute inventory of the sock room floating around in my head, it took me a bit to make a decision on a few pairs of the sacred socks. Obviously I wanted my offering to the Evil Queen to be perfect, especially with it being Katsmas and all. My task, however, was not made any easier by the fact that the Zombie Sales Lady Jackal didn’t stray from my side. She just kept following me up and down the aisles, never less than a half dozen inches away as she shuffled along, grunting and wheezing. I have to admit, not only was it psychologically disconcerting, but I almost succumbed to the Ben Gay and Polygrip fumes that were wafting around me in thick clouds.

    Finally, I chose some especially cool socks for my dear and lovely. Before I could even start toward the register, Zombie lady snatched them out of my hands and demanded, “Cash or charge?”

    “Visa…” I mumbled, extracting the plastic money from my wallet.

    “You want these gift wrapped?” she spat, wobbling off to the register stand.

    “No. I can handle that,” I replied.

    “Uh-huh,” she grunted. “I thought so, you pervert.”

    By the time I arrived at my truck, mall security, the local police, and a SWAT team had surrounded it. I was taken into to custody and spent several grueling hours trying to answer questions about sock fetishism.

    But, that wasn’t the scary part. When they finally turned on the overhead lights in the interview room, who do you think I saw? Yeah… E K sitting in the corner, giggling to herself in a very satisfied way, all the while painting her nails.

    I’m no longer allowed within 100 feet of the women’s sock aisle in any department store in the United States. I can hang out in the lingerie all I want, but if I go near the socks I end up getting tackled by security. These days I have to shop for my offerings to Queen Eebil Kat online. Even so, my guess is all those sites are tracking my IP address just to be sure I don’t do anything perverted.

    More to come…

    Murv

  • Enhanced Husband Torture Techniques…

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    Part 1 of 2…

    You really never know exactly what an evil redhead like E K is going to do to you. Sure, there are all the normal, everyday tortures she has in her bag of tricks. The evil, sadistic stuff that wicked redheads do that would make even Dick Cheney cringe. I’ve already told you about those.

    I’m talking about the far more intense EHTT’s (Enhanced Husband Torture Techniques). You see, E K is among that elite group of hypersadistic not-of-this-earth redheads who come up with ways to grind their stiletto heel into the back of your head without even being within 20 miles of you.  Pretty scary stuff this “Remote Torture”, and The Evil Redheads of the world have perfected it.

    I’ll let you in on a little secret – I’m pretty sure E K is their leader. She disappears for a couple of hours every week and whenever I ask about it she just gives me one of those really evil grins and says she was at a “meeting”, then tells me to make sure I have chocolate fondue or finger sandwiches ready for her to take with her to “the meeting” the following week. Unless I am missing my guess here, these “meetings” are where the redheads get together and devise new and frightening things to do to poor husbands like me. This includes not returning my Tupperware and/or fondue forks, but that’s another blog.

    Anyhow, regarding these new and sadistic tortures, let me give you an example – Take for instance a couple of Christmases ago… (nice segue, eh?)

    SocksYou see, E K is a “sock lady”. This is almost exactly like a “shoe lady” (she’s one of those too), but it involves socks instead of shoes. Also, be aware that “sock ladies” should not be confused with “sock puppets”. They are something entirely different. Sock ladies can, however, have puppets, especially if they are evil redheaded sock ladies. But, usually they just call us lackeys, slaves, or “hey you”. For some reason they eschew the use of the word puppet. It probably has something to do with “sock monkeys” and corporal punishment, but we won’t go there.

    Yeah, I’m  digressing… so what’s new about that?

    Okay… Back to the situation at hand – or, at foot as the case may be…

    As I was saying, E K is a “sock lady”.  Back in her early twenties – which isn’t all that long ago since, as we all know, she just turned 25 (wink wink, nudge nudge) – her majesty wore skirts, stockings, and heels to work. Yeah… Even as a service technician out in the field she could be found lithely prancing about on high-heels while beating a printer into rightful submission, and looking damn good doing it. (Not that she doesn’t look damn good doing now too, mind you.)

    However, for the past several years she has reserved her “fancy shoes” for “fancy occasions”… These days when going all dominatrix with a screwdriver on a printer or plotter she is far more likely to be found in slacks and a stylish pair of black or brown leather, flat-soled Mary Janes.

    This is where the socks come in.

    You see, she is not about to sacrifice her quirky individuality for anything. Therefore, she has an entire room full of socks.  And when I say socks, I don’t just mean your average, run of the mill, 6 in a package from K-mart type of socks. Nope. Not E K. She has knee socks, over the knee socks, mid-calf socks, ankle socks, lacy socks, sheer socks, polka-dotted socks, striped socks, solid color socks, argyle, oddly patterned, holiday, whimsical, thin, thick, fuzzy, wool, cotton, synthetic, electric, nuclear, hybrid… wheeeezzzzzzz… wheeeezzzzzzz…

    (Pant… Pant… Pant… Hold on a sec while I catch my breath, okay?)

    wheeeezzzzzzz… wheeeezzzzzzz…

    (Whew… Better now… I think…)

    catsockSo, anyway, you get the point. The woman has socks galore, and is always all about obtaining more socks galore.

    She will buy them in a box. She will wear them with an ox.

    She will wear them on her feet. She thinks socks are really sweet!

    She will get them from the store. She will get them more, more, more!

    And, that’s just the beginning.

    But, much like the folks who collect those little “baby spoons” from National Parks, she doesn’t want just any socks. They have to be socks she doesn’t already have in her collection. Socks that speak to her. Showcase her individuality and wicked stylishness.

    Which brings us back around to Christmas a couple of years ago.

    Here’s the thing… E K and I have been together for a long time. When you have been together as long as we have, no matter how much you are “in love of one another” you tend to start scaling back in the Christmas gift department. Instead of going out and mortgaging the house for the Faith or Charity Diamond (I mean, who would want the Hope Diamond. It’s cursed!) You tend to go for gifts that are slightly less pricey and sometimes even a bit more practical. Especially when you are married to a Taurus. They are all about practical. So, on to the socks… You see, those couple of years back I asked The Evil One if there was anything special she wanted to find under the Yule tree. Without missing a beat she replied, “Cool Socks.”

    Okay. Cool socks. Easy like pie. This, even I can do without screwing up too badly.

    I should have paid more attention to the way the corners of her mouth curled up into a fleeting grin, because little did I know she had just set her wicked, wicked plan into motion.

    More to come…

    Murv

    To Be Continued In:  Murv The Purv…