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My Dickie is Too Small!

       
  I was pouring a mask, spilling latex all over my shorts  and ruining yet another pair of Dockers when I saw it.  My neighbor John across the street was busy as a beaver sawing into some large piece of wood.  He was well protected by his Dickie.  Wow!  If I had a Dickie like that, never again would I need to worry about staining my pants. 
       
  When John finally turned off his table saw, I called him over,

"John, can you come over here?  My wife and I would like to get a better look at  your Dickie." 

John is a nice guy and loves to show off his tools, so he strolled over proud as a peacock to finally get a chance to let someone see his Dickie. 

"Jeepers," was all my wife could utter.

She could only remember seeing a Dickie once in college and had never been this close to one.

"Can I touch it," she said.

"Go ahead, rub it all you want," gleamed John.

I wanted to feel it too, so not being shy I stroked John's Dickie every which way.

       
  "This is it," I told my wife.  "I want a Dickie just like John's for Father's Day."

My wife is very good at remembering little things  like this.  How could she forget after seeing how happy John was with his Dickie?  Father's Day was just around the corner, but I couldn't get John's Dickie off my mind.  Finally, the day arrived and true to her colors, my wife presented me with my brand new Dickie.

       
  "I really need to be alone," I said as I slipped into the bathroom for proper fit. 

I pulled out my Dickie and the fun began.  I unzipped, pulled and tugged my Dickie to no end.  It was hard going, but I finally got it.  I stepped out of the bathroom rather ashamed.  My wife was standing there and I knew what was coming. 

"It's too small," she said in her matter of fact tone.  "Your Dickie is just too small.  Not like John's.  Oh no, he has a big Dickie."

I knew it.  I had waited and waited for my Dickie only to be severely disappointed.

"How could it be too small," I blurted.  "It was long enough."

"Length doesn't matter," my wife said,  "It just won't fit." 

"Can you fix it," I asked her hoping against hope.

"No! of course not.  It's not my job to work on your Dickie.  It must go back."

       
  I knew it had to come to this.  I had to part with my Dickie.  I got the number and called. 

"Hello, this is Eileen.  What can I do for you?"

I said, "It's about my Dickie, I have problems.  Can you take care of it, or is there another number I should call?"

"Oh, no.  I'm a specialist," she said.  "I can take care of your Dickie right here." 

"Is there a fee?"

"Not at all, we have a very liberal policy on how we handle Dickies.  We would never charge, especially an unhappy customer.  Now if I could just get some information from you, name, address, phone and description of problem." 

I gave her the information and mentioned my and my wife's displeasure with my Dickie. 

"Perfect," she chirped back.  "We can take care of you.  If you could just get your Dickie off tomorrow, we will have you smiling again in no time." 

Finally!  I felt a small rush of adrenaline and set out to get my Dickie off.

       
  Well, my Dickie finally came.  My wife squealed with more excitement than I did.  I hadn't realized she was this excited to see my new Dickie.  I again found myself alone in the bathroom with my Dickie.  My wife waited with anticipation for the final moment.  I emerged from the bathroom with a somewhat solemn look on my face.  We both knew it right away.  My new Dickie was too big!