Mrs. Obvious…

The telephone is ringing. Is that my mother on the phone?
And in the background an old song by The Police is playing.
Isn't that a little too obvious…

Well, the telephone is ringing

Is that my mother on the phone?

The telephone is ringing

Is that my mother on the phone?

The telephone is screaming

Won't she leave me alone

The telephone is ringing

Is that my mother on the phone?

Well, every girl I got out with

Becomes my mother in the end

Every girl I go out with

Becomes my mother in the end

Well, I hear my mother calling

But I don't need her as a friend

Every girl I go out with

Becomes my mother in the end

Oh Oh mother

Oh mother dear please listen

And don't devour me

Oh mother dear please listen

And don't devour me

Oh women please have mercy

Let this poor boy be

Oh mother dear please listen

And don't devour me

Momon? I ask the telephone.

Bromford Bibble? Is this Bromford Bibble?

Not my mother, obviously.

You really call your mother 'Momon'?

Yes, I say cautiously.

Oh, that's so nice. And it's so good talking to you.
I am your biggest fan. I've been reading your blog
for a long time. And I cannot tell you how awesome
your Christmas story was this year. Oh, how I loved
Nanuk and K'eyush and Grandma White Feather.

Definitely not my mother.

Who are you again? And may I ask you where you got

my phone number?

As I said, I am your biggest fan. You may call me fan
number 1, if you like. And I've got only one question and
afterwards I won't disturb or bother you any longer.

Isn't that what all stalkers say, I wonder.

Ask your question, I say.

You are Bromford Bibble.

That is not a question. That is a conclusion.

That is a fact.

Obviously, I say.

Obviously, she repeats. And in your Christmas story you
are also Nanuk, the little Eskimo boy, aren't you? So
obviously the little boy didn't freeze to death at the North Pole.
He was victorious without a fight and found his place of
strength so that he could defeat the Dark Eater who obviously
stands for fear itself.

Obviously? That's more like a question.

Are you an Eskimo?

No, I have to admit.

So what's the sense in all of this? Obviously?

Sense? What is that woman talking about? There may be no

sense in fiction at all. Does fantasy have to have or make sense?

Who are you? I ask. Are you Mrs. Obvious?
Mother of Captain Obvious?

Who is Captain Obvious? Maybe I am Mrs. Plagiarism.
And your Captain Obvious and your whole story about
Eskimo boys and power animals are just another one of
the same kind. Where is the sense? And who is thinking
about the children?

I close my eyes. There is no-one on the line.

And all of this makes as much sense as living together with

a llama in a penthouse on the roof of an apartment house.

Think about it.

And another song is playing on the radio…

There's a woman on the line, she is wasting my time,

She calls me every day, she's got nothing to say…