Alien fingers? How the hell would she even know what alien fingers look like?
“Daddy,” she continued, “everyone knows that Alien Fingers are red, and swirly and they have very pointy ends.”
“Alien Fingers, Dad!” She sighed impatiently.“They’re two for one at the Quik Stop at the corner. Can we stop to get some?”
Again he was at a loss for words. “What…”
“Alien Fingers, Dad!” She repeated, all patience in her voice gone. “Where have you been all your life? In a cave?” Her shoulders heaved in disgust at her ignorant father. Another impatient sigh. "It’s just candy. I mean really. It’s not that complicated of an idea. Can we stop?” Long pause. “Pleeeease?”
He sighed with relief. “May we.”
Now it was her turn. “What…?”
“May we stop. You’re asking permission…”
“Geez, Dad!” Then the syrupy sarcastic tone that always bristled him wrong. “*May* we stop at Quik Stop for the Alien Fingers?”
“Red, you say.”
“Yes! Red! Daaad!”
“Of course we can.”
He pulled into the parking lot. She dashed in. Less than 45 seconds later she bounded back to the car while opening one of the long, sickly sweet, red, swirly, pointed candies on a stick.
“Thank you, Daddy!” She said angelically.
That night when all was quiet in the house and after he checked all the doors, he began the ritual of undressing for the night.
“Red Alien Fingers indeed” he muttered while he removed the flesh colored glove that covered his blue, swirly, pointed fingers. “Everyone knows that alien fingers are blue.”