The Ballad of Zeenorp Fiddlebit
Zeenorp Fiddlebit was on the hunt for a wife. He had been observing Earth for a while now in his scientific pursuit of the optimal home, and wife-hunting seemed the number one thing human men liked to do. Some hunted for husbands, but not Zeenorp. He wanted a wife. Yes, a beautiful wife with long legs and short feet. Zeenorp felt that these requirements were not disagreeably demanding, but instead respectably moderate.
His wife-hunting failures outweighed his successes 872.4 to 0, but he had finally isolated his great and singular shortcoming — Zeenorp was bald! Luckily, he had just discovered Earth’s greatest creation: the wig shop.
“Are you sick?” asked the friendly wig store attendant after he tried on his seventh wig (curly with long bangs — too extravagant). “You look rather green.”
“No, I just like to be green sometimes,” Zeenorp replied, hoping the attendant would not realize he was in fact green all the time.
She nodded. “Years ago, I dyed the underside of my hair green, too. It felt like a secret.”
“Like the inside of an avocado,” Zeenorp remarked cleverly, and the woman laughed.
Now, I know what you are thinking, reader. But Zeenorp had already decided this woman could not be his wife; in fact, she was fairly short and had quite sizable feet that slapped the ground like paddles.
“Or the inside of a kiwi!” he added, and she laughed again. Zeenorp thought the noise sounded like the pittering of asteroid pebbles against the hood of his spaceship, which was his favorite sound in the universe.
“Your wig is in your eyes,” she replied, and suddenly two fingers parted his bangs to reveal her grinning face. Her cheeks were lovely and round like the moon. Zeenorp wondered if maybe her feet weren’t quite so big as he’d first thought.
“If you do not mind me asking, Miss, how does one know when a wig is … perfect?”
The wig store attendant leaned even closer to Zeenorp. His enormous brain rang loud alarm sirens all through his body: emergency, emergency!
“It is a feeling you will know. It will be like … perhaps …” She leaned forward and squished her soft mouth against his; a supernova detonated in his chest cavity.
After the kiss ended, she asked, “Did that feel special to you?”
Feelings were nowhere to be found in Zeenorp's wife-hunting protocol, for Zeenorp, as a scientist, did not need them. “It felt like nothing at all,” he lied.
“I see. Well, then, I’ve decided the jig is up!” She gripped a fistful of her hair before ripping it all off of her head, revealing a shiny, bald dome. “Sir, my real name is Beelorp Fippleflop. I’ve come to Earth searching for a husband, and you aren’t it!” Beelorp dashed out the door.
He had been duped! Seduced by a swindler, and a bald one at that! So why did Zeenorp leap from his chair? Indeed, he chased foolishly after her, shouting, “Wait! Wait! Come back!”
