Christy's Two Feet

by Mitchell Harding


Righty: You're drunk again!
Lefty: No I'm not. You must be mistaking me for Mitch.
Righty: Very funny. Apart from being a highly skilled playwrite who rewards loyal characters, he is also no drunkard!
Lefty: [Slurring] He's a lush!
Righty: Don't bite the hand that feeds you.
Lefty: Why not? That drunk jerk bit me this morning when he was under the bed! He could use a taste of his own medicine.
Righty: He was completely sober by then.
Lefty: So you concede, then, that he was drunk the night before?
Righty: Well...
Lefty: You know he was! He kept looking at us when we made the slightest noise. And do you remember how he kept calling the bed a table? Are those the acts of a sober man?
Righty: You're not being reasonable.
Lefty: And you're just being a mouthpiece to defend the author, as though he's going to reward you for it.
[An exquisite sapphire ring appears on Righty's little toe.]
Righty: Need I say more?
Lefty: That's not fair!
Righty: Perhaps you'll agree now that Mitch was sober and witty last night, rather than drunk and silly...?
Lefty: He's a prince of a man!
[Lefty receives a similar ring.]
Lefty: Wow! That was easy!
Righty: Indeed.
Lefty: Hey! I thought I was drunk. I seem to remember slurring some words awhile ago.
Righty: Yeah. I think the playwrite, infallible and great as he is, forgot about it. You're certainly sober now.
Lefty: How can you tell?
Righty: How can you tell?
Lefty: You are no longer naked except for a lampshade. And your toes have stopped doing "the wave" at random times.
Righty: I see.
Lefty: The playwrite is tired.
Righty: Good night, Mitch.
Lefty: Sweet dreams.

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