I like my thumbs. I've had them for a long time and over the years, they've served me well. Without thumbs, I'd have to open the gigantic bucket of chocolate ice cream I keep hidden under the frozen broccoli, a whole lot slower. Without thumbs, it would be virtually impossible to squeeze the blonde in a bottle to cover my, shall we say, unnatural blonde hair once every couple weeks.
All I'm saying is I like my thumbs.
Know what else I like? Monkeys. We've covered my love of monkeys before. It's not a passing fancy. It's a life long love of primates. I think every American home should have at least one monkey. I especially like them when they wear little people clothes and smile really big.
Currently, I do not own a monkey, but that is only because they don't yet sell them at Wal-Mart. In the meantime to satisfy my monkey desire, I frequently make Mr. Man wear little people clothes and smile really big.
Recently though, I've heard reports on the news that have left me absolutely torn between the way I feel about my thumbs and my need to own a monkey.
It happened just the other day. I was sitting on my couch watching TV, thinking about how much I wanted a diet Dr. Pepper and a can of frosting and how great it would be to have a monkey to go get it for me, when I heard the teaser for the evening news.
"Monkeys go freaking wild and eat a guy. Details coming up on the KOAM news."
They must be mistaken, I thought. Monkeys don't eat guys. They eat bananas and wear short pants. If monkeys eat guys, I'm so screwed. I'll never convince Mr. Man to let me get a monkey.
Naturally, I waited for the news to come on and sure enough, a bunch of rogue monkeys almost ate an entire guy. The poor man was in the hospital fighting for his life. Sure that's bad. But what really got me came next.
"...and his wife narrowly escaped the angry monkeys with her life, but not before they ate her thumb."
Not only did they eat that lady's thumb, but the news proceeded to do interviews with other people who had lost their thumbs in freak monkey appendage eating incidents. One by one, various people from across the country held up nine fingers and spoke of the horrible day when a monkey ate their thumb.
"I was just visiting the zoo, minding my own business, when a monkey walked right up and bit off my thumb. Who knew monkeys ate thumbs? I thought they ate bananas and monkey chow."
Clearly, I have a concern here people. A quandry even. As badly as I want a monkey to do my bidding, I don't want some thumb-eating animal wandering freely around the house.
Maybe if I make my thumbs and the thumbs of my family look less appealing, I can own a monkey without fear of being thumbless. Maybe if I put a sign up on my front door which reads, "Please put your thumbs in your pocket. Monkey on premises", people could arrive with thumbs and leave with them, too.
I'm telling you, this has thrown me for a loop. You spend your whole life loving something, wanting something and then one day you find out it enjoys the occasional thumb appetizer. I'm devastated.
Oh well. I guess until I come up with some sort of thumb protection device I'm going to have to put my monkey shopping on the back burner. Does anyone know where I can buy a tiny little cowboy hat and some velvet pants for Mr. Man?
Copyright © 2004, Sherri Bailey
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