When his alarm rang on a Tuesday morning, Andrew Vandergriff groggily turned it off, rolled over, and stretched his arms toward the ceiling. When he opened his eyes, he was startled to see a small mouth on the back of his left hand, mid-yawn. The mouth hadn’t been there when he went to sleep, and yet here it was: about an inch and a half wide, with full, fleshy lips and perfect small teeth.
“Good morning,” said the mouth, and smiled.
“Good morning,” said Andrew, but the mouth didn’t respond again.
“Hello?” Still nothing. “Did I imagine that?” asked Andrew. The mouth maybe smirked, but remained silent. Andrew probed the lips and teeth with his finger, and then called his primary care physician. “It’s… well, it’s a small… wound on my hand,” he said, and made an appointment for the following Monday.
Andrew had a toaster waffle for breakfast, covered the mouth with a gauze bandage, and went to work. On the way, he stopped at Starbucks. When the barista handed him his latte, the mouth on his hand chewed off the gauze and spit it out. “You should smile!” it hollered at the barista. “You’d look really pretty if you smiled!”
Andrew clapped his right hand over the mouth, sloshing coffee on the counter. “Oh god I’m so sorry,” he said. The barista stared after him with disgust as he ran out.
At the office, he tamped a paper towel gag into the tiny mouth and wrapped his hand in duct tape. It took him a half hour to calm down, but he was relaxed when he went into the morning meeting. A consulting expert was visiting the company to demonstrate and explain their new filing system. While she was explaining the benefits of the switch, a new tiny mouth sprouted in the crook of Andrew’s right elbow. “Well, actually,” it bellowed, “our old system was better at–”
“Aaaa!” said Andrew, and clapped his left hand over the new mouth.
“Please don’t interrupt me,” said the visiting expert.
The tiny mouth bit Andrew’s fingers, and he yelped and pulled his hand away. “Calm down!” yelled the tiny mouth.
“Oh my gosh I’m sorry!” said Andrew, and ran out of the conference room. Back at his desk, he tamped another paper towel gag into the new mouth and wrapped duct tape around his elbow. Once that was done, he closed his door and decided to try to stay in his office for the rest of the day.
As he sat at his desk and ate his lunch salad, his boss knocked on his door. “No eating at your desk,” he said. “You know that. Take it to the employee lounge.” Andrew sighed and gathered his food.
In the lounge, Andrew sat alone at a table and tried to eat as quickly as possible. At the next table, two women were having a conversation. One of them had just had a bad date, and was describing it to her coworker. As Andrew crunched down on a crouton, a new mouth sprouted on his neck. “Not all men!” it said. “Not all men!”
“Oh, shit!” screamed Andrew, and crammed a forkful of lettuce into the tiny mouth while bolting out of the room.
Back at his desk, Andrew applied another paper towel gag and wrapped duct tape around his neck. He called his doctor, demanded an emergency appointment, and left work early.
On the way to the train stop, Andrew found himself in the middle of a crowded protest outside City Hall. All around him, people waved signs, chanted slogans, and marched through the streets. As he walked through the crowd, one of the protesters smiled at him and handed him some reading material. As he took it, another mouth sprouted on his belly, beneath his buttondown shirt. “You know,” it shouted, “I’m of Irish descent, and I don’t know if you know this, but–”
Andrew punched himself in the gut and tried to walk faster through the crowd, which was starting to turn and stare at him. He started to run.
A new mouth sprouted on his forehead. “If I could just play devil’s advocate here for a second…”
Another one, on his knee: “Please, consider both sides.”
Andrew ran as fast as he could, screaming at his new mouths. “Shut up, shut up, shut up!”
The illustration for this fable was provided by the delightful and talented Mike Edrington.
