Local Plastic Goose Has More Outfits Than Entire Street

A LaughParty comic take.

A comic take: the events and characters below are entirely made up. No actual geese, plastic or otherwise, were consulted.

Every neighborhood has a celebrity. Some have a retired weatherman. Some have a guy who once sneezed on a game show. Ours has Gerald, a two-foot plastic goose who stands on the Hendersons' front porch and has a wardrobe that would make a department store mannequin quietly file for early retirement.

Gerald does not simply exist. Gerald arrives. On Monday he was a fisherman, complete with a tiny yellow raincoat and a rod roughly the length of a pencil. On Wednesday he was a graduate, tassel swinging, clearly prepared to deliver a commencement speech about following your dreams even if you are hollow inside. By Friday he had become a lifeguard, which raised questions, since the nearest body of water is a birdbath that has been dry since spring.

I own four shirts. Two of them say the name of a 5K I walked most of. Gerald owns a tuxedo, a pirate hat, a sombrero-free Cinco de Mayo ensemble of tasteful streamers, and what appears to be a knitted sweater with smaller geese on it. I do not know how a goose feels about wearing geese. I suspect Gerald has made peace with it.

The neighborhood has adapted its entire social calendar around him. Nobody checks the weather app anymore. We just look at Gerald. Tiny rain boots? Bring an umbrella. Sunglasses and a Hawaiian shirt? Sunscreen. Earmuffs in July? Mrs. Henderson simply ran out of clean outfits, and we all agreed to pretend we did not notice.

Children walk to school specifically to see what Gerald is wearing. Dog walkers have altered their routes. The mail carrier, a stoic woman who has faced down three chihuahuas and one aggressively friendly goat, was recently seen giving Gerald a small nod of professional respect when he dressed as a postal worker. Uniform recognizes uniform.

Naturally, there has been drama. Last month the family across the street put out a plastic flamingo and gave it a bow tie. It was a bold move. It was also a mistake. By the next morning, Gerald was wearing a full three-piece suit, a monocle, and a pocket square folded into what experts would call a statement. The flamingo was gone within the week. Nobody talks about it.

I asked Mrs. Henderson once why she does it. She looked at me the way you look at someone who has asked why the sun bothers rising. Because he would be cold, she said. He is plastic, I said. She said nothing, and adjusted his scarf.

I went home and thought about it for a long time. Then I bought a garden gnome. His name is Walter. He has one hat. We are working on it.

Inspired by A neighbor has a plastic goose they occasionally dress up.