Me: “Bonjour, John Kerry’s comb.”

Comb: “Bonjour.”

Me: “So, tell me: Product? Lots of product? And be honest now, because everyone knows he’s doing something up there.”

Comb: “You mean you have to ask…? Let’s see… there’s gel, mousse, spray, color — you name it, he uses it. The guy thinks he’s Simon Le bon. But from a practical standpoint, he’s virtually wind and waterproof. Which in his line of work, y’know…”

Me: “– important to have sculpted hair, I guess…”

Comb: “Well, I don’t know that I’d go so far as to say ‘sculpted.’ But stationary, certainly.”

Me: “Hmm. Nice guy then, is he? Friendly? Or is he more standoffish, like he seems on TV?”

Comb: “Honestly? We don’t talk much. I just do my job, and that’s about the extent of the relationship.”

Me: “…But surely you’ve formed some impression…?”

Comb: “Not really, no. As I say, we don’t talk much. I’m a comb.”

Me: “Sure, sure. Still, it’s a good gig for you, right? All things considered? I mean, you probably eat well and have your own disinfectant jar, that sort of thing — not to mention you have a chance to be a pretty famous comb should things go your boy’s way in November.”

Comb: “I suppose. But so what? I’m a comb.”

Me: “Yes, I realize you’re a comb. But you have a chance to be a particularly famous comb –“

Comb: “– you do realize I’m a comb, right?”

Me: “Sure. But –“

Comb: “– Because you’re taking this kind of seriously, it seems to me. Which I don’t mind telling you is a little bit creepy.”

Me: “I see. Point taken… Just a comb.”

Comb: “Just a comb.”

Me:

Comb: “Anything else?”

Me: “…No, no, not really…”

Comb:

Me:

Comb:

Me: “…So, you wouldn’t happen to know if John’s toothbrush is around, would you…?”