You know what I hate? The fact that I can't go into a store and find clean bandages sold especially for mummies. I don't think there's a single mummy-friendly personal hygiene product on the market. Why doesn't anyone think we want to be clean? It isn't fun walking around in tatters, tripping over your own dirty wrappings. My cousin Steve broke his arm off that way.
"You'd better double knot those wrappings!" I told him before he left the tomb.
"I don't want to look lame!" he said. Well who's laughing now, Steve? Having only one arm isn't very attractive. And it really puts off his balance.
And you know what else I hate? I can't even walk into a store without everyone running out screaming, "Mummy! Mummy! Watch your souls!" Souls aren't all I think about you know. I'm perfectly capable of carrying on normal conversation with humans, and I'm not always "trying to get into your soul," as they say.
These days getting souls isn't as big a part of my existence as it used to be. I'm really into reading. And smooth jazz! I remember some of my first years out of the tomb, when getting souls was all I could think about. I loved souls. I craved them. And when I finally found a soul of my own it was the best moment of my life. I couldn't imagine life without my soul and even though all of my friends made fun of me and accused me of being "soul-whipped," I didn't care. We had something special, my soul and me; it completed me.
But after a while my soul and I decided it was best to move on. There were just too many differences between us. At first, haunting deserted houses was fun and exciting, but soon enough it was all my soul ever wanted to do, and it really put a strain on our relationship. We're still friends, though. To this day my ex-soul still visits my tomb, and we catch up and reminisce about old times. The last time it visited I shared my theories on mummy discrimination in the world, and it told me about the new house it was haunting—something about unfinished business and the shitty family living there.
Anyway, these days getting souls isn't as big a part of my existence as it used to be. I'm really into reading. And smooth jazz! Trouble is, I can't exactly walk into a library and check out a book. You need a freakin' library card. And I have a good feeling they won't be issuing me one anytime soon. Mostly because every time I walk into the library, everyone else runs out. Or chases me with wooden bats.
It's like, I know I smell kind of gross, but it's a rotting corpse thing, can you really blame me? Try blaming the rest of society; they're the ones who refuse to do anything about my situation. Just ONE mummy body wash, that's all I ask!
You know what else I really hate? Everywhere I go someone's yelling "MUMMY, MUMMY!" I have a name, you know? It's Robert. It'd be nice to be formally addressed every now and then.
Being a mummy can get awfully lonely. I just want a soul. I mean, friend.