It had been a difficult time for Annie. She knew she wasn’t living in cuckoo land, but everyone else seemed to think so. No one believed her when she spoke of what had happened to her; where she had gone and why. Now she simply shut up about it except on rare occasions. If the person had asked kindly she didn’t mind too much narrating her experience, but usually she resented being pooh-poohed.
Her abduction naturally wasn’t voluntary. The aliens had been polite but firm. She had been selected because she was practical in the kitchen. They wanted to ask her about ordinary kitchen utensils. Most of them they couldn’t work out what they were for. A hand-beater for example; what was it used for and how?
Annie discovered that the aliens had every kitchen utensil and appliance under the sun, and wanted to have an entire room in the main museum on their home planet dedicated to Earthling Kitchen Gadgetry. Annie thought it quite fun to tell them all sorts of tall stories. A spatula, for example, was used for beating a wayward child. A frying pan was for smashing eggs; just place half a dozen eggs on the bench and smash them with a frying pan. A garlic press was for destoning plums. There was nothing that Annie didn’t make up a story about. Next time you go to the aliens’ museum you’ll see how wrong they have got the labelling. That’s because of Annie’s stories.
“That’s absolutely fascinating, Annie,” said the nurse. “The doctor will see you in a minute.”