Fried Rice |

Fried Rice

“Skully wants another beer!” husband-head yelled through the pass-through between the kitchen and the living room the other night, where he was planted on the couch. “Skully says he wants it NOW!”I stood in the kitchen and rolled my eyes and then went to fetch one from the fridge.”Skully needs to learn to say ‘please,'” I reproached, as I handed husband-head the can.”Pronto!” Skully-through-husband-head insisted.”Skully” is actually a porcelain skull I bought husband-head recently to add to his Halloween decorations. His big mouth hangs wide open – Skully’s, that is – and the intended purpose of the figurine is to hold a small candle that lights up his head.But husband-head has taken to talking through Skully, who sits on the pass through and stares at the TV.According to husband-head, Skully loves football and is a huge Packer fan.”Honey, Skully was made in China,” I pointed out gently. “He probably prefers watching martial arts or something.””Nope, he’s into football,” husband-head replied, making sure Skully had an unobstructed view of the television.So Skully and husband-head proceeded to watch a football game, which had already aired.”Why would you want to see a game when you already know what the score is going to be?” I asked husband-head curiously.”Because it’s football,” he retorted. “How many times have you watched Titanic when you know what the ending is or the jokes in the re-runs of the Golden Girls?”He had a point.”By the way, Skully says to shut it,” husband-head spoke for the statue again. “He’s trying to concentrate.””That thing is going to end up in the garbage if it doesn’t mind its manners,” I warned. “I’m not going to be bossed around in my own house by a smartass Halloween decoration.”But talking to the skull wasn’t too much of a surprise, given that a few years ago, I came home to find husband-head sitting on the couch with a football placed next to him.Not that it’s unusual for a guy to play with a football while watching a game, but this particular pigskin head had a face drawn on and a beer in front of it.When I asked what was going on, husband-head simply said, “That’s Enefel – he’s my friend.”The only explanation I could think of was that husband-head was emulating one of his favorite movies, “Castaway,” in which Tom Hanks befriends a volleyball he names “Wilson.”As it turned out, Enefel not only drank beer and watched football, I had to set a place for the stupid thing at the table that night, too. Unfortunately for Enefel, we were eating pork chops.”Whatever happened to Enefel?” I asked husband-head recently. “I thought you guys were good buddies. You used to watch all the games together.”Husband-head looked at me as if I’d gone mad.”I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he said in complete denial. “I never did such a thing. That’s all in your imagination.”It most certainly was not.But husband-head is often the voice for those in our house who cannot speak, including the dogs, the cat, the plants, various household appliances and inanimate objects.”What are you, like Dr. Doolittle?” I asked husband-head one time after he informed me that our cat, Pepper, had a potty mouth. “I’ve never heard her use bad language at all.””Oh yeah, Pepper swears like a sailor,” husband-head assured me. “She sometimes uses words that I’ve never even heard.”But for right now, Skully is the main talking head in the house.Husband-head called me the other afternoon while I was upstairs working in my office and asked me for a particular phone number. I sighed and informed him that it was all the way downstairs.”Skully says to go get it!” husband-head ordered over the phone.There is a very good chance that this talking head is going in the trash.Heidi Rice is a staff reporter for the Post Independent. Her column runs every Friday. Visit her Web site at

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