The Mayor of Crazytown

Story Submitted by Ed:

Anya and I were out to dinner, seated in a booth on a first date.  Not long after introductions and quick recaps of our days, she pointed to her napkin, her spoon, and her fork.  "Alice, Cindy, and Bo."

I asked, "I'm sorry?"

"The napkin, spoon, and fork.  Those are their names.  Alice, Cindy, and Bo."  She then pointed to my napkin and silverware.  "Jeff, Sam, and Bert."

I thought that she was trying to be fun in a childlike way.  At least, that's what I hoped.  A moment later, her eyes lit up and she pulled the sugar, salt, and pepper in front of herself and said, "Kiera, Francine, and Mindy."

I said, "A lot of women at this table."

She tapped on the table and said, "The table's a he.  His name is Ralph."

I nodded, then asked, "Why are we naming things, again?"

She said, "Because those are their names, silly."

We put in our orders and I wondered if she was going to name her food when it arrived.  Until then, though, we spent several minutes talking to each other, learning more about each other, and laughing.

At least, that's what I wished we had done.  Instead, Anya took that time to explain the complex interactions and politics between all of the denizens of the table.  "Bert and Francine like each other, but it's taboo for a fork to pursue salt.  Jeff and Francine will probably wind up together, but not before Kiera kills Sam for killing her parents."

It was very creative, but also psychotic.  I initiated a different branch of conversation a few times, but she was way too into her little world to give me much notice.  To be fair, we did talk about other topics, but interactions between salt, napkins, and water glasses clearly took priority in her world. Yes, she did end up naming all of the foods on her plate, and came up with complex justifications for eating each.

When the check came, she named it Heinrich and we split it.  I told her, "I had a good time with you and all of your characters."

"Thank you!  So did we.  Bye!"  She remained in the booth, staring at her collected "friends."

I asked her, "Are you ready to go?"

She said, "I'm just saying goodbye.  You can head out, though.  It was nice meeting you!"

I left her there, as I didn't want to interfere with what promised to be a series of heartfelt, tear-jerking goodbyes between salt, sugar, and non-diluted insanity.


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  2. I can't help but wonder if she wasn't just faking this to get out of the date. Seems to be a bit too much method to her madness.

  3. ^I thought the same thing. I mean, before I was properly medicated, I used to feel overwhelming sadness and sympathy for furniture in dumpsters and stuffed animals that were at the Good Will, imagining how sad and lonely their lives were, but shit, I never named them.

  4. @Nikki: There's medication for that? I used to have issues with my own stuffed animals, I had to sleep with them ALL or they'd be sad. Left very little room for me. I still have some issues with giving personalities to inanimate objects, not nearly to the extent this girl does but enough that it bothers me.

  5. ^I felt like that until about fifth grade. I had a nest of animals on my bed that I rotated into the spot next to my head.

    I think I may have carried it into my dishes. I feel bad for the ones in the back that I never use. THEY DON'T HAVE NAMES THOUGH!

  6. @echai and Error: I still sleep with a stuffed bear (Cocoabob the Lesbian Bear) and my stuffed Eeyore. Eeyore is mainly used as an arm pillow at this point, because he's rather fluffy. But yes, turns out mood stabilizers help a bit towards taking my debilitating empathy and making it liveable.

    However, I haven't named inanimate objects WITHOUT faces.

  7. OMG I know someone who is like this. She owns tons and tons of small stuffed animals, all of them named, and has a back story for each one. Some are in school, some are not, some work, some get along, others don't, some are more religious than others, some are gay some are straight, etc. I can't make this stuff up.

  8. Holy Roman Emperors, is this a woman or a five-year-old?


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