Monkey See Monkey Chew | May 22
Monkey see monkey chew. That is all I have to say about that. Except not really. This is a blog post, after all, and needs to be longer than four words. Frankly, though, Monkey See Monkey Chew would be sufficient–because that’s precisely what happened. First, a monkey joke. Why did the monkey cross the road. [wait for it–wait for it] Because it was the chicken’s day off. Buh-dum-bum. I had to google that joke mostly because my attempts to find a monkey joke from the patrons in the local noodle shop were unsuccessful. They were smiling, but methinks it wasn’t because of a monkey joke.
Last night, both of us were longing to be lounging in a freezer by the side of a pool with an ice cold who even cares somewhere in Antarctica. [It was a particularly melty day yesterday. Melty night. Melty, melty, melty.] We found a little shop that sells items that are individually pictured and labeled in Chinese and the best possible English translations. Every item [which thing did cause our hearts to rejoice] was in a cup and most looked refreshing. We pointed to the picture of a “Strawberry Shake,” paid, and then leaned our melty bodies against the waiting wall. And crossed our fingers.
When trying something new, we only order one until there’s proof that the picture on the menu matches the final product. Especially when we travel.
I tell you that part of the story so you’ll understand this next part of the story: I snagged two straws. Handsome Dude wasn”t feeling 100% and didn’t want us sharing straws. No biggie.
The Strawberry Shake receives a unanimous, enthusiastic “10” out of 10 for being a gloriously ice-cold delicious tasting wonder of saving us from melting heaven. [That’s an entirely different post, altogether.]
Back to the Monkey See Monkey Chew part of our story. We left that Merry Mart [the name of the whole maze of shoppes/stores/kiosks] smiling, skipping, and slurping on Strawberry Shake. Well–we were both smiling. I was doing the skipping and slurping.
Once outside, we noticed a small group of people [not a group of small people–a small group of people–just to clarify] around the mile-high large entrance doors. I was curious about what they were all looking at. It had to be something cute judging from the sound they were making. It’s the universal sounds made when someone sees something adorable–like a puppy–which is what I anticipated it would be. I slurped my last slurp, took out my straw, handed the shake to Handsome Dude and scurried to the cuteness–camera at the ready.
It wasn’t a puppy.
It was a monkey–a little monkey on a leash, climbing to the top of the mile-high doors, trying to get away from the group [my best guess, in retrospect]. There were two people who were apparently his sheriffs/owners–and one motioned for me to come closer. Because I was a little taller than the others already watching, I squatted to make sure I wouldn’t block their view.
The monkey climbed/slid down the door handle and was quickly was sitting at the base.
I snapped a quick photo and tried to make a hasty exit. “Tried” because my body isn’t a squatting body–it’s a kneeling body. Squatting isn’t so easy to un-squat. The exit wasn’t going to be hasty or graceful so I took another picture. Why not? Who gets that close to a monkey.
The next bit makes me giggle now–NOW–though as it was happening, I let out a squeal that seemed to delight the small crowd that had gathered.
The monkey grabbed my straw.
Perhaps he was parched as well. Perhaps he could smell the bit of strawberry deliciousness left inside of the straw. Dunno. But it was his. I wasn’t going to make any attempt to retrieve it.
Monkey see monkey chew.
Adorable. [And yes, I was certain the two monkey sheriffs saw what happened and figured they would be able to grab the straw before it became a danger.]
Back to planning a hasty and graceful retreat–my body was still squatting in spite of it not being a squatting body. My knees were persistently reminding me about the conundrum [the business of playing with a monkey, squatting like a monkey, and even the monkey business with the straw].
I turned my head for a split second [anyone who was a child, knows a child, or has a child will know where this is going] and suddenly felt the grab of two little monkey paws on my wrists.
That paw.
It’s about the same size as mine. [Not my paw. I don’t have a paw. My hand.] It’s only slightly smaller.
The little monkey fella has two of them.
This is the moment when I started thinking that this monkey business was a bad idea.
No squealing this time. I screeched and fell backwards into the entertained little group of people standing just behind me.
“Babe!”
[Handsome Dude cannot come to the aid of a fair maiden in distress who’s completely surrounded by people. And squatting. Virtually invisible to the Handsome Dude eye.]
They ‘righted’ me to upward squatting position–you know–because I fell into backwards squatting position. Trying to save what little face there was to save, I decided to take one more picture. [Maybe taking another photo would convince the gentle onlookers that what had transpired thus far had been intended. Maybe. Not really. No.
I prepped to take the final pic–BUT–before a squeal, sqauwk, OR screech could be uttered, that little monster monkey grabbed both straps of my over-the-shoulder bag, pulled me forward, let go of the straps, grabbed my phone, and started chewing on it. And somehow this photo was taken before he grabbed my purse straps.
There is mischief in those eyes.
And horror in mine.
Of course, I was protesting–BUT–while protesting I was also trying to pull the phone from the claws of the giant monster the paws of the ridiculous little monkey, move my purse out of reach, and maintain some semblance of balance.
~sigh~
Monkey fella won by a landslide.
17 alcohol wipes later–a bath–washed and washed and washed clothing and I finally feel like I’m not covered in monkey icky-spit-blah.
Note to self: no more monkey business. Ever.
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