Some people look like their dogs...

We sell ducks.

No, not live ducks. That’d be a mess we have no desire to clean up, thanks.

Rubber ducks. Of all shapes and sizes, types and professions. They border our window sills, and tend to draw people into the store, because for some reason, people will pay two bucks a piece for these silly little lumps of rubber.

I don’t judge.

Occasionally we have Duck Hoarders.

These people will come in, dig through the 983475824 ducks we have, and end up with forty dollars in ducks. Great for our sales, confusing for our opinion of the human race.

I mean really. Who spends that much on ducks?!

Rae and I were at the store, like we do, and this group of people came in, practically crying over the ducks. They bought a handful each, and left perfectly happy with their rubber duckie (you’re the one) take for the day.

There was one straggler, still paying, and the others were looking in the window at him. All of a sudden, his wife, or whatever she was, slams up against the window (Rae says she “beckoned”, but seriously, this woman hit the glass with her face) gesturing wildly at a mermaid duck that we had.

A mermaid duck that we regularly make fun of, for her vibrant off-colour hair, unfortunate breast shape, and tacky pearl necklace.

Then Rae and I looked at the woman in question again.

It was all we could do to not burst out laughing.

Some people grow to look like their spouses, or their dogs.

This woman looked like her duck.