once upon a time mrs pink had a husband named mr pink, until one dark rainy night he simply disappeared; he had gone out to buy tobacco for his pipe and never returned.

after a week there was still no trace of him. mr pride was of the opinion that mr pink had been stolen by the fingernail mafia, and he said so to everyone who asked (or did not ask) for his opinion, adding privately to the distressed mrs pink “madam, i fear your husband is now dead and done for. he had, if you do not mind me saying so, pretty nice fingernails. first class material if you ask me, no doubt he will make it into a dutch grand piano, and that says a lot, first class material i say” (“first class material” echoed dr shy, eyeing the ceiling and the floor at the same time).
much to his surprise this did not console mrs pink at all, so he handed her dr shy’s orange and purple chequered handkerchief, picking off most of the dried snot first.

by the end of the second week the police had discounted a possible link with a tragic accident involving a mad giraffe on the loose. after all, the rather flattened and sorry human remains recovered from the scene did not really match the description of mr pink as “rather broad build with a small black moustache and a toupee”.
“madam, it is the fingernail mafia i tell you” said mr pride, peeling a banana “look at it, it makes perfect sense, your husband had first class nails and that is a fact”. dr shy merely looked cross eyed trying to focus on a fly sitting on his nose.

during the third week after the disappearance, the police received an anonymous tip putting the blame for the tragedy with the fingernail mafia. they came over and had a long talk with mr pride. when they had gone he lit a cigarette and all he would say was “still, his were first class material”. dr shy, from his hiding place underneath the sofa drooled on the carpet.

and so time went by and no trace or rumour was ever found of mr pink. slowly life resumed its normal course again:
mrs pink took to labelling her collection of knitting needles on lonely winter evenings, mr pride’s brief interest in dutch grand pianos subsided soon enough and dr shy was forced to clean and clip his nails after several months.