“Yes?” The old lady's voice crackled through her ancient phone. “A call from my favorite nephew? What have I done to deserve such an honor?”
“I'm your only nephew, Auntie. I need a bit of advice.”
“Advice? Is it something to do with a girl?”
“No! Well, um, yes, actually. I was wondering...”
“Oh, you have to tell me all about her, Jack! Is she nice- Oh, where did you two meet- have you been seeing each other for long? What's her name, Jack, oh you have to tell me. Oh, I simply have to tell everyone at sewing circle- Susan just had her third grandchild get married, did you know- and they're all asking about you, Jack! But don't let me interrupt, do go on with your question.”
“Hypothetically!” Jack stressed the word. “If I hypothetically liked this girl, who is entirely hypothetical and does not exist, and she hypothetically liked ballet, and had by some circumstance indicated that she wanted to take lessons as a child but never did, would it hypothetically be acceptable to rig a contest for which the prize was a month worth of ballet lessons, and maybe kinda fix it so she won?” He paused for breath. "And if so, how long would I have to wait if the conversation happened, say, today, to point her to this hypothetical contest, in order to divert all suspicion of rigging it from myself? Keep in mind that this is totally hypothetical."
“Oh, a dancer!” crowed Aunt Martha with pleasure, before she caught herself and giggled. “A hypothetical dancer, of course. But why not just buy her lessons, Jack? It could be terribly romantic. And maybe a nice pair of shoes, if you want.”
“Shoes! I hadn't considered shoes!” Aunt Martha giggled again as the sound of Jack's frantic scribbling reached her. After a moments pause, his voice came again. “...Hypothetically, what's the best way to ask her her shoe size?”
“Oh, that's easy! Just the next time she takes off her shoes, take a peek at the number on the sole. Don't actually ask her, though.”
“What if she doesn't take off her shoes, though?”
“Improvise, honey! Maybe go shopping with her, or spill something that sticks to shoes but not to feet. You're a clever boy.”
“Um, alright. But the first question? Would that work?” He noticed Crash waving at him frantically through the office window, and nodded cordially.
“Well, it might work, Jack, but I really don't see why you'd go through all that trouble. Just giving her the lessons would be much more romantic.”
“Thanks for your help, Auntie. I've gotta go.”
“Good luck with your hypothetical lady friend.” She stifled a giggle again, and he sighed. “Bye bye now.”
“Bye.” He hung up the phone, sighing. Crash burst into the office all at once. “Yes?”
“Jack, Fixit's on fire.”
One year ago, I posted the first story about Jack, as well as drawing him for the first time. So therefore, I have declared today to be his birthday. So happy birthday, Jack. May you eventually learn how people work. But not too soon; we enjoy laughing at you.