Under-the-thumb Hat

Bob dragged his sagging middle-aged ass into the bar stool and ordered his usual shot of wild turkey. It had been another soul-destroying day at the factory, and he felt stale and numb. What he needed was a pick-me-up. Another hour, and he'd be home with the family.

What if he didn't go home? What if he broke free from his marital shackles, and headed off into the sunset, like a rather butch Thelma or Louise? He'd be in big trouble, that's what. His teenage kids would have nobody to be sarcastic towards, and his wife, rather than slowly wearing him down like water over rock, would store up a thunderstorm of complains to break over his head when he got home.

"Cheer up Bob," Randy called down the bar. "Things can't be that bad!" Randy was recently promoted and recently divorced. Bob imagined that life must be good for Randy.

"Hey Bob, we're going bowling in a while. Maybe have a few beers. Whadda ya think?" Bob stole a glance at his worn out leather bowling bag gathering dust on the glass shelf behind the bar.

"Well, you know I'd love to come along boys," Bob rolled his eyes towards the ludicrously comical 3D thumb stuck on the top of his hat, "but I guess I'd better not." Hats and thumbs bobbed up and down wistfully around the jaded bar, and one by one the guys supped up and slunk home.