Hunca Munca was known for her penchant for shiny, bright objects. Anything and all that glitters.
She collected dollhouse-sized pie and cupcake tins, tiny bits of colored foil from Hershey kisses. Everyone knew and teased her about her hobby.
Until one day, her husband Tom Thumb, a mouse, spotted his wife wearing an unusual necklace.
He peered closely. “Why are you wearing a rosary?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Is that what this is? Hunca Munca said, pawing the beads. “I had no idea. I just thought it was a pretty necklace. Looks like diamonds. You know, diamonds are a mouse’s best friend.”
Tom Thumb harrumped. Where did she get the rosary? Hunca replied nonchalantly: Barbie’s jewelry box.
“Well, you need to return that right away,” he snapped. “That doesn’t belong to you, somebody made that and sooner or later someone will notice it’s missing.”
Hunca Munca laughed. “I will return it, eventually,” she said. “It’s not like Barbie can pray. She’s just a doll.”
“The rosary is the greatest weapon against evil! It will convert the souls in the Soviet Union!” Tom Thumb roared, surprising enough himself.
“Well, I had no idea you felt this way,” his wife said, taken aback. “When did you convert to Catholicism?”
Tom Thumb said he hadn’t, it was something he had heard the people in the household say while they prayed in the living room. They were deeply worried about the Soviet Union detonating a nuclear bomb on the U.S. Everyone worried about it.
“It why people drink and smoke so much,” he observed. “They’re worried about what the Commies in the USSR are going to do to the U.S.”
“Praying will make a difference?
“I guess,” Tom Thumb said, shrugging his shoulders. He lit his corncob pipe, settled into his miniature Eames lounge chair & ottoman by the fireplace, the chair he was borrowing from the dollhouse .
A few minutes passed.
“I wish we could pray,” Hunca Munca said somberly.
“Well, we can starting right now,” he said, reaching for the rosary around his wife’s neck.
The delicate thing broke, Hunca Munca gasped and burst into tears.
“You broke my necklace. How can I return it now? We’re certainly going to get bombed by the Soviets now!”
“Not if we can help it. We must pray!”
Just then a nearby village siren began to wail, warning of an impending air attack.