Late-Night Visit From A Regular Customer

Regular customer Ms Mukta madam visits me late at night for a kiss-respecting of her sneakers. As is her friendly wont, she quizzes me mockingly about my humble day:

‘Hi Sockieboy! How has your day been? Seen lots of nice sockies on your customers’ feet?’

I must respond to customer-mistress Ms Mukta’s mocking question in the most respectful and humble of tones:

‘Oh pray Ms Mukta madam, thanking you kindly for your kind question, Ms Mukta madam, this slave has indeed had a good day, madam, and has not stopped kissing the feet and admiring the socks of his betters, madam, if it pleases you most esteemed and beautiful mistress Mukta madam, I’m pathetic like that madam?’

She laughs at my ultra-obsequious response:

‘Haha, that’s good, sockieboy. It’s good for a slave like you to be kept busy, and that! Describe the favourite pair of socks you saw today.’

This could be a trick question! You never quite know with Ms Mukta madam! She could be looking for an excuse to have her husband come round and kick my face in. Or she might be genuinely interested to know my thoughts and feelings on my favourite pair of socks that I have seen today on a customer’s feet. Plus, of course, I must not denigrate her socks in any way – the socks currently in front of my face. I therefore choose my words carefully, and pepper them with respectful words about my superiors’ socks, as befits a pathetic and humble sockieboy-slave at the mercy of his betters:

‘Oh pray Ms Mukta madam, if it pleases you Ms Mukta madam, aside from your own fabulous black and white socks which you have on now, madam (Ms Mukta is wearing a fetching pair of black ankle socks with a white trim), this slave was most enamoured by the pink, calf-length socks of a Chinese student customer-mistress which she was wearing over her leggings and inside her white sneakers madam, if it so interests and pleases you madam, begging your pardon miss?’

‘Haha, describe her socks in detail, slave. What did you observe about the stitching in her socks?’

‘Oh prithee, Ms Mukta madam, thanking you kindly Ms Mukta madam, the fabulous Chinese customer-mistress’s pink cotton socks had thick lines of perpendicular stitching, madam, and I was able to study and admire several creases in them, madam, as she positioned her student feet on the footblock in front of my feckless, feetkissing face, madam, praise be unto the Chinese mistress’s socks, miss?’

Ms Mukta seems satisfied with my obsequious, socks-respecting response:

‘And what about my socks tonight, slave? Can you see any creases in them?’

‘Oh pray Ms Mukta madam, oh praise oh bless, miss, this slave can indeed observe one or two fine creases in your sock in front of my face right now madam, if it so pleases you miss, begging your pardon miss and thanking you kindly for wearing such superb socks on your feet, mistress Mukta madam?’

Ms Mukta laughs approvingly at my sock-sychophatic response. She is clearly in a good mood this evening, so I boldly decide to extend the conversation to her husband’s socks. I would dearly love to ask about her newborn and how her offspring is doing, but, being a mere public footservant, I am only permitted to talk about my betters’ shoes and socks, unless they themselves initiate a conversation with me on other themes. And so I must limit my impertinent conversation to enquiring after her magnificent and manly husband’s socks:

‘Oh pray, Ms Mukta madam, begging your pardon madam, I trust your husband master Simon sir’s socks are well, madam, if I may be so bold, miss, please forgive my sockslavish impudence, miss?’

She, naturally, laughs at me:

‘Haha, yeah his socks are fine, slave, thank you for asking. I’ll pass on your regards to them and let Simon know you are thinking of his socks!’

‘Oh pray Ms Mukta madam. Oh praise! Oh bliss! Oh thank you for being so kind towards me, miss. I do not deserve to serve such a superb and kind couple as yourself and your husband, miss. I’m garbage, miss!’

‘Yes you are, sockieboy. You’re just a pathetic piece of sneaker-kissing, sock-admiring garbage! Now shut up and get on with kissing my feet, or I’ll have Simon come round and kick seven shades of s**t out of your ugly face. You’re a sock-moron, slave!’

‘Yes, Ms Mukta madam. I obey you, miss. Thanking you kindly once again, miss.

I then shut up and kiss-respect Ms Mukta’s sneakers – dozens of times!