My son, AKA The Boy, AKA the Ingrate Who Does Not Read His Mother’s Blog, is irritated with me for having forced him to run to the store to pick up some Fresca before he goes to work.
And by “forced” I mean I pointed out to him in language that could not be misunderstood that he had finished it off the day before, leaving me and my lunch Fresca-less; and frankly, that I was against it.
This is where I should interject that Fresca is, as far as The Boy and I can tell, the best drink (water? what?) for those suffering from a hang-over, which is how he managed to polish them off the day before, leaving me with none.
I think this brings us all up to speed.
So while my son was hopping about in righteous anger – and without a leg to stand on, by the way, given his pathetic and Fresca-sucking demeanor of the day before – I got to thinking about the monkeys again.
While I still profess doubt as to a monkey’s ability to make change or predict my late-night cravings as well as, say, William Throckmorton the Third does, I do think that there’s gold in them thar monkeys!
Forgot something at the store? Monkey.
Lose a sock somewhere between the dryer and the dresser? Monkey.
Need someone to mash the potatoes while you finish making the gravy? Monkey.
Missed the bus but can still see it? I’ll bet that monkey can run faster than you can! Send that monkey a’runnin’!
There are far more possibilities, of course, and I’m working on an idea concerning monkeys as chauffeurs.
Does anyone out there know if monkeys are color blind? That might be a hindrance.