Foreign Language

The wife and I barged into the bookstore and made a beeline toward the reason for our being there. We searched frantically and we searched sexily, but no amount of franticness or sexiness can produce the volume on which hinges the success of our happiness. Books dealing in bizaarre topics like cosmetic dentistry in San Diego, and practicing martial arts while working for the government were present, but not the ones we were looking for.

“WE NEED TO ASK SOMEONE!” my wife exclaimed frantically.

“I KNOW! BUT WHO?!” I replied sexily.

“IF ONLY THERE,” my wife paused to catch her breath. “WAS SOME SORT OF GUARDIAN IN THIS STORE OF BOOKS UPON WHO WE CAN ASK ABOUT OUR DILEMMA!”

“LIKE A BOOKSTORE AGENT. OR STORE MASTER!” I said as I removed my shirt and slammed it on the floor in triumph.

“Uh excuse me?” said a timid voice from somewhere at the end of the aisle.

“Well?” I said impatiently. “Speak up young knave! We have pressing matters that demand our attention!”

“I see,” he continued tentatively. “Well, if you could just keep it down, you’re scaring away the customers. Also, if you can see about putting your shirt back on…”

He left that last statement unfinished as he looked inquiringly at me. I’m not sure if I get what he means. I’ve never had any complaints about going shirtless before. The people at church never said anything. Maybe this was a sexual proposition of some kind?

“Young man! I do not know how it is where you come from, but around this place I’d like to call Earth, we do not have sex with men! Not even one as ball-slappingly irresistible as me.”

I made a move to cover two of my nipples as I was saying this. My wife moved to cover the other two of my three remaining nipples which were still exposed to this stranger.

“What? No. You misunderstand,” said the knave with a little more disgust in his voice than I cared for. You see, I work here, and my supervisor sent me over to—-.”

“So you are what we’re looking for!” exploded my wife.

“She’s right!” I told him. I was so filled with joy that I forgot all sense of decency, and hugged him against my breasts. Somehow, I managed to take his shirt off as well. “Now book knave, would you be kind as to assist us in our quest?”

“Mmmmffhfhf pp hp hp !” came the muffled cry from under my armpits.

“What? Speak up Sir Book Knave! We—-oh,” I realized what was happening, and I promptly let him go.

“GAH!” he gasped. I afforded him a couple more minutes to catch his breath. “What quest are you talking about?” he said in between gulps of air. I made to answer in my big booming voice, then he interrupted me. “Nevermind. If it means you’ll leave the store that much faster, I’ll help.”

“Very well young knave, you see the wife and I decided to go on a vacation. To Europe and other foreign countries.”

Seeing his less than enthused expression, I pressed on. “So we are looking for some foreign language books which will aid us during our travels to foreign lands.”

“Is that all?” said the knave as he made to put on his shirt. “Well we have a very large selection of foreign language phrase books here. Now if you’ll excuse me—.”

“But you don’t understand!” cried my wife tearfully as she grabbed the knave’s shirt away from him and wiped her tears with it. “You do not have the tomes which we require!”

“Hush now little lady. I shall take responsibility of interrogating Sir Knave,” I said calmingly to her.

The knave sighed in exhasperation. “Ok, so what books are you looking for? I’ll see if they have them in the stockroom. If not, we’d be happy to order them for you. Are you agreeable to that?”

“Good man!” I told the knave as I slapped him on his back with a loud THWACK. “Didn’t I tell you honey that he’s a good man? Of course I told you,” I said while slapping the knave on the back a couple more times. The knave winced each time, but I supposed that’s his way of expressing enthusiasm for his quest.

“So what books were you looking for again,” he said, face distorted in what can only be described as joy. Or pain.

“Well, we’re looking for books which will allow us to speak British.”

Silence was the only answer the young man gave me. Maybe he didn’t understand. I decided to give him other options in case the books which we sought were unavailable.

“Or perhaps, you have something else from which we can learn the very arcaic Australian language?”

His mouth was open wide, but all the sound that was coming out of it was some sort of strangling sound.

“Or if you don’t have those, maybe you can point us to where you keep your ‘How to Speak Irish‘ books?” my wife asked helpfully.

He was quickly turning into a sickly shade of purple. What was before strange strangling sounds emanating from his throat were eventually manipulated to sound like words after much effort from his part.

“You………dumb……” He started. I waited for him to finish the sentence because I had no idea what he wanted to tell me. But apparently, completing the sentence was simply beyond his capabilities at this point. So he eventually gave up and gave me a weak slap to the face instead.

Taking that as a sign of refusal to help our cause, the wife and I decided to eat the bookstore.

THE END.