by Ginger Hamilton Caudill
Today I discovered a moldy banana in the cat chow container. The children declare they know nothing about it. My husband acted offended when I questioned him. I know it wasn't me because I'm allergic to bananas. The cats lack opposable thumbs so they can't open the snap-on plastic lid, and the guinea pig would have eaten it. Apparently some escaped gorilla is hiding in my home collecting food stores in my plastic containers, waiting to take over the world -- or at least my little corner of it. Today's banana unearthing is nearly as bewildering as the chicken bones under the sofa cushion last year.
When I found the chicken bones, of course no one in my house claimed any knowledge of who was responsible for it. Using my honed detective skills, I finally concluded that my husband guiltily crammed them under the cushion when he heard me coming up the stairs. I later confirmed this theory when I found the white-and-red striped box from the chicken place crammed under the sofa itself. So much for our agreement to cut out fried foods. Graciously, I credited the discovery of the chicken bones to wolves invading our home. Hubby breathed a huge sigh of relief and agreed I was right. I figure I won't feel guilty any more when I sneak those heavenly apple fritters at the doughnut shop!
But now our home is under attack by primates. This could explain the tangle of clothing drooping out of bureau drawers and creeping across the floors in my children's rooms and the constant cries of "I don?t know where my jeans are" and "Where are my socks," not to mention the missing shoes, book bags, notebooks -- perhaps even the lost homework! Wicked apes are donning my teens' clothing, attempting to fit in with the general population. This may be the source of "sagging" that is so popular today, where young men wear the largest possible jeans as low on their hips as possible without their falling off.
I used to think sagging began as a gang joke. An unsuitable recruit begged to join. He was a gang member's first cousin's aunt's youngest grandson and they couldn't reject him outright so the gang put their heads together and said, "Okay, man, if you wear Fat George's jeans for one week with no belt and don`t use your hands and they don't fall off -- well, you're in." The poor fellow wanted to fit in so badly he ignored the jeers and taunts from the others, shuffled through with George's size 54 jeans on his narrow size 32 hips for a week, and won his prized bandana.
But today, after my banana discovery, I realize ill-fitting garments are the result of animals
in our midst wearing clothes, trying to fit in. If you still have doubts, talk to a middle
school teacher. How else did that rotten banana find its way into my cat chow container? Where
else could all the lost homework assignments go? Children never lie to their parents. But those
gorillas, well, you just can't tell.
Ginger Hamilton Caudill writes to set free the ideas and characters in her head. If she didn't write she'd be like Aunt Ellie who lives in the attic, and nobody wants that. Ginger specializes in creative nonfiction, humor and satirical writing. Contact her at: Caudill_1.
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