I’ve just been googling images of Omega Seamaster watches and it looks like one, from the strap alone.
Stand down, Frauen. It was I, Puddle, who secured the Seamaster for her. I tried to place it gently on her doorstep, but was unable to move, being a Puddle. Bided my time, I did, the many long years, while she trundled up and down the street, weighed down by the Packages of Patreon and the Shopping Bags of Stupidity. Called out weakly, "Behold, I am Puddle." Disgorged a scarf to draw her closer, alas to no avail. She simply pounced pixily upon the end, tugged it clear, then scampered labradorily away like an overworked simile.
At last it came to me. For where does one turn in times of crisis but to family? What kind of fool had I been to struggle alone? And thus it came to pass that in fair Southend I laid my scene. Catching her in a weakened state, upon her seventeenth return from Asda, I appealed to my brethren, the dirt beneath her fingernails.
"I may be Puddle!" I cried. "But first, I am Muddy! If you dehydrate me, do I not Dirt?"
Oh. They could scarcely deny it. And finally - o glorious moment! - there they were. There she was. Down, they led her, those grasping fingers. Mercy, I thought. I may be Puddle but here is a brown not usually found in nature. Brace yourself, I thought. Did.
There are horrors of which we will not speak. If I had known ... if I had imagined ... I would have trained to be a Barrow Down.
No matter. It is done. I greeted my brethren, revealed the Precious. Deep and deeper they dove. Friends, her face was in me. I can hardly ...
Stop. The past is the past. What use in hauling it with you, endlessly performing your briefest, darkest moment?
I released the Precious. "It is Seamaster," I murmured. "A gift from the depths. Now
duck OFF."
And thus her legendary love of sea shanties was born. And also an avatar.
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