My son is a bit… odd. He gets it from his mother (obviously). So, one of the things he’s been doing lately is carrying around this little stuffed monkey. He keeps it tucked into the pocket of his black jeans. These go with his black shirt and his black fingernails. Don’t comment on his new goth look, though, or you’ll get an earfull. (“I’m not GOTH, geez…I just like black.”)
Anyway, we went to see the Matrix Friday night. As we waited in the lobby for Mrs. Rasreth to return, we had the following conversation. I’m still wondering why we weren’t kicked out…
WHINY: Have you seen my dirty little monkey?
ME: Um, no.
WHINY: It was in my pants.
ME: Shhh… *giggle*
WHINY: I need my dirty little monkey! Why was he taken from me?
PEPPERKAT: *chuckle*
WHINY: I like to play with my dirty little monkey.
ME: *snort*
PEPPERKAT: He’s only *this* big…
ME: (face turning red, stifling laughter)
WHINY: He is small, but size doesn’t matter. I have fun with him. He’s soft and furry.
ME: (dying)
WHINY: The last time I saw him, he was with the cats…
ME: *wheeze* Oh my God! Don’t even go there…
WHINY: Maybe I should ask these people if they’ve seen my dirty little monkey…
ME: Thank God, here comes your mother.
There was a lot more, I believe. I can’t remember much once the spasms of laughter hit our juvenile party. Beavis and Butthead would have been proud.
Thankfully, this story has a happy ending, because…