My Hand Puppet

You know, I'm getting a little tired of people asking why a grown man would own a hand puppet. Can't folks use their time more productively? If you think about it for five seconds it makes a lot of sense. Companionship is at a premium. Hordes are working long hours at two jobs. Depression and isolation cloud our cities. No one calls or writes and social networking with all those smiling strangers makes us feel even more alone.
For a modest price, one can find a buddy that will always listen, never interrupt and continually display affection. You don't have to feed it a or give it shots or have its teeth checked as so often happens with elderly relatives. Roscoe and I complete each other. When I go to a cafe I just sit him opposite me while I order. Sometimes I'll read for awhile, but inevitably I feel the need to converse and he is always right there to absorb my insights. I'll slide my arm into his essence, turn my wrist and point his little charming snout--he's a lizard--at my face and our discussion will take off. Don't think others don't notice. All eyes are upon us as we debate a range of topics.
In retrospect, I have to admit Roscoe was right about Colin Powell. I had high hopes for that man and he disappeared into private life. However, I was right about Greece and the European mess, countries trying to bail them out. Roscoe stated it was all a misunderstanding. Foreign affairs are not his strength.
At the risk of sounding immodest, quite a few attractive woman have shown a marked interest in eavesdropping on our conversations. The fact that they seem to find Roscoe fascinating doesn't bother me. Without my right hand that fellow is just a pile of felt and fabric. I always have things in perspective.