Why good morrow to you sir. Yes, I do in fact need a touch of assistance. As you can see I quite fancy this monocle, but I fear that my presbyopia is worsening and it may be time to transition to… eyeglasses.
Why, yes. Yes I am Mr. Peanut, quite a pleasure to make your acquaintance… Jeremy. Sorry, I would have read your name tag, but, well, I can’t see a damned thing with this monocle. It’s really the reason I’m here you see. Well, that and as of late I have had a hard time dealing with the ridicule. People can be so cruel, can’t they, Jeremy? Throwing words around willy-nilly like, “fancy” and “roasted.” And let me just say that the number of double entendres available with the word “nut” is nearly crippling at social gatherings.
My dear boy, I am looking for frames that bespeak my populism, whilst also matching my white gloves and high-top leather shoes. I don’t suppose you carry anything in ivory, do you?
No? Shame. Ah yes, now that’s a smart pair isn’t it? Yes my friend, hints of Jung and Joyce in those, I’d say. Do you have a mirror?
No need to bring it over, I can walk there. The cane is just for dealing with the top heaviness. Ah, let’s see. Oh… no. No, that won’t do at all. I look like some sort of thin-lipped editor for the Workers Vanguard. No, I’ll have to see another pair straight away.
While you’re scanning those over Jeremy, I need to ask that you don’t tell anyone I was here. The Planters people are unaware that I am exploring an adjustment to my image and I would prefer we keep it that way. Yes, better instead to just blow into a board meeting, thrust by the salted winds of change, let them have a good look at me and say, “Well boys, who’s ready to peddle some nuts?”
Now what do you have there? Oh goodness, get those away from me! Ugh, the heavy, black, deathliness of those is a horror! Do I look like some sort of Buddy Holly, Greenwich Village café urchin? What do you think I am, Jeremy, a Brazil nut? Do I scream incompetence to you? Am I chunky and bland? Get out of my way. Get! Get!
Oh, look Jeremy! Oh, yes! Look at these!
Wait. Oh, no. No, no, no, these clash with my top hat like two enraged Spartans!
Take it off? Are you mad, Jeremy? This hat says who I am! Look! My name is printed right there above the brim. I mean, you wouldn’t ask Lizzy Taylor to shed her diamonds, now would you? I should say not. Besides, and I only tell you this in the strictest of confidence, but I am as bald as a newborn’s pubis up there. Ha ha ha ha! Oh, we have taken a ribald turn, have we not my friend?
Oh, who am I kidding, Jer? Losing this monocle would be like losing my shell. Who am I to quibble if the only price I pay for my identity is an occasional nighttime bump into a bookshelf, or never being able to read a restaurant menu, people assuming I always have a pen, or getting called a “jack-a-dandy” at airport security? I still have lived a more majestic life than most. Safari in Kenya, high tea at Buckingham Palace, bending Bette Davis like a cashew over the back of a divan at the Four Seasons. I’ve done all right.
Thank you, Jeremy. Your humble manner and quiet confidence says more than all of my prattling and rambling ever could. I’ll be on my way now dear friend, but first, take this buffalo nickel. From me.
Now, I would appreciate it if you could tell me where I might go around here to find some pants.