The King Returns

I rose one morning, and slipped into my robe. Living alone had produced the habit of walking around my apartment in minimal clothing. When I entered the kitchen to grab some breakfast, I saw Elvis in the refrigerator. He peered in looking for a snack. What was Elvis doing in my apartment? Why was he digging through my fridge? What a bum!

Yet, I had the perfect chance to prove that the King had not died! This was a dream come true! Reality slapped me in the face when I remembered that I had no film in my camera.

He backed out of the fridge holding a mammoth sandwich and a liter of Pepsi. Finally, he noticed my presence. "Thank you, thank you very much," Elvis drawled. Elvis left the fridge door hanging wide open. I made myself a modest sized sandwich, then poured a glass of orange juice.

After closing the fridge door, I took a seat opposite him. I decided to eat before asking any questions.

His mouth seemed cavernous as Elvis took the first bite from his sandwich. It appeared as if he had unhinged his jaw! Elvis guzzled half of the liter of Pepsi. Loud gulps echoed in the silence.

I followed his lead, but only sipped my juice. After I had eaten half of my sandwich, I asked, "So why are you here?"

Elvis paused; dim light reflected off the white leather jacket he wore. His greased black hair glistened. He gulped down another bite, and stared at me. Elvis opened his mouth to answer, then disappeared.

I awakened that morning disturbed. My slumber had not been good. I donned a bathrobe, and approached the kitchen expectantly. Stopping short, I noted that someone was in the refrigerator...my wife! She pulled out a jug of milk, placing it on the counter.

"Sally?" I queried.

"You're expecting maybe Elvis Presley?" she returned drolly. She smiled, swinging her gravid body to face me; its mass nearly imbalanced her.

"Are you hungry, or is she?" I teased.

"Both! And don't make fun of me! My condition is because of something you did!" Sally's tone showed resentment, and her face looked pouty. The force of the statement hit me like a freight train.

"I'm not making fun of you." Placing my fingers under her chin, I angled her head to look into her eyes. Overcome by impulse, I kissed her. Her dark tresses brushed silkily over my hands. "You know I'd never make fun of my life's love. Besides, you made fun of me first."

"You have to do something about those dreams." She looked concerned. The mysterious eyes I had come to cherish clouded with worry, and an apprehensive tear rolled down her right cheek. I wiped it off half way down. She blinked more of them away.

"I know, but what? Oh well," as I held Sally, Sylvia kicked both of us in the gut hard. Because of our height difference, I was kicked a bit lower than Sally. "Ouch! So much for psychic dreams and ESP."