Mock Suggestion

Local girl Ms Mukta madam approaches me jauntily from across the yard on one of her regular late-night visits to my humble head. My heart and soul leap for joy, even if my face is forbidden, by Law, from showing it, since the Gynarchy scriptures say a slave’s demeanour should always be downcast and that, if it is upbeat, he should be beaten until the smile is wiped from his face!

As she presents me with her customary right foot first for respect-kissing, Ms Mukta teases and torments me with a faux offer:

‘Yo, sockieboy, I don’t suppose you’re free this weekend, are you? Simon and I (that’s her magnificent husband, also an occasional customer of mine) are off on a weekend break to the countryside and we need a sock slavey to come with us to take care of our socks – you know, straightening them on our ankles; massaging them on our feet; suckwashing them, and so on – that kind of thing? We were wondering if you’d like to accompany us as our sock slavey for the weekend?’

It’s a sarcastically delivered, mock offer, since Ms Mukta knows full well that I am permanently confined in this wretched alcove wall, and that the Gynarchy authorities will never allow me to leave my wall, not even temporarily! Even when I die, I shall simply be bricked over and will thus spend eternity in this single spot.

However, I must dignify Ms Mukta’s mock suggestion with a suitably slavish and apologetic response:

‘Oh pray Ms Mukta madam, if it pleases you Ms Mukta madam, God bless you and your husband, my master Simon sir, for thinking of me and for honouring me with the proposal that I become your weekend sock slavey, madam? However, this dirty slave must respectfully decline your kind offer, please don’t hurt me madam, as he is, most regrettably, permanently and immovably confined in this dirty alcove, madam, and is therefore required by Law to continuously kiss the public’s feet, madam, such as your feet, miss, given that he is but a public footslave, miss, begging your pardon and understanding miss please don’t beat me miss?’

She chortles at my obsequious and sincerely apologetic response:

‘Oh, that’s a shame, sockieboy! I reckon you’d make a good temporary sock slavey for me and my husband? Just kiss my feet, then, like you usually do, stupid slave!’

Even being verbally rebuked by customer-mistress Ms Mukta madam is an honour and a privilege, though not as great an honour as being mockingly invited to accompany her and her husband in the capacity as their personal, weekend sock servant!

As I pucker down and start to kiss her outstretched sneaker, I study her plain grey SOCK and dream of what might have been!

Ms Mukta approaches me with a jaunty stride, looking resplendent in her brown, winter jacket and cargo pants

Not to mention her fabulous red, white and blue sneakers and short, grey anklesocks!

Said sneakers and socks stop directly in front of me...

...as a mocking Ms Mukta proposes to me that I accompany her and her husband on their weekend jolly to the countryside

She explains they will need a sock slavey to take care of their SOCKS!

Though it very much pains me to do so, I must respectfully decline Ms Mukta's kind offer!

At which point she, rightly, calls me a stupid slave and orders me to kiss her feet

As I taste her dirty sneaker leather, I am acutely aware that I could be accompanying her SOCKS on their weekend trip...

...were I not so ignominiously and permanently confined in this dirty, public alcove!

Oh how I dream of being the permanent slave of Ms Mukta's SOCKS...

...the SOCKS of a GODDESS!

As her SOCKS turn their backs on me to leave, I think about what might have been!


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