Who told me cats are fun? Because as I sit here brooding and sulking WAY too early over my morning cup-o’-swill, I’ve got a few choice words I’d like to say to the fella that convinced me to get a mewling, whining, sadistic little fur ball.
Since 3:30 this morning, she has been meowing her head off at me. If she was a dog, I’d think to myself, “Hm. She’s making so much racket that Timmy MUST have fallen in the well. I should get up and throw the kid a rope or some shit.”
She is not, however, a dog. I knew, folks. I *knew* there was absolutely nothing amiss. And yet, when she persisted, over and over and over and over and…
I got up. She jumped on the bed, then raced to the door. Perhaps I was wrong, I thought to myself as I donned my robe and grabbed my glasses. “Okay, kitty. I’m coming. Relax. What’s wrong?”
The beastie tore down the stairs and waited in the kitchen doorway, looking eager and anxious. I got down there as quick as I dared with my half-opened eyes and clumsy bed legs that only partly worked, expecting to see the worst.
As soon as I entered the kitchen and looked around, Demon Cat purred, gave me two leg brushes, and then promptly curled up in her current favorite box, closed her eyes, and pretended to go to sleep, a smug, self-satisfied look on her fuzzy little face.
She just wanted me to be up. There was nothing wrong. Not a damn thing had run afoul in the night. No Timmies were in any wells, and she didn’t even want to show off a mousey kill. She just wanted to rend asunder my peaceful slumber.
So now here I sit way too early, brooding and grumbling, sucking down a fairly tame cup of coffee flavored milk, when all I really want to be doing is sleeping. It was a good sleep, folks. One of those pleasant nights where you wake up here and there, glance at the clock, see that you’ve still got four more hours, and fall back asleep with that comforting high buzzing through you. It’s not even like she interrupted a nightmare night. Or a tossy-turny night of self-reproach and regrets.
It was a good sleep. And now it is gone. *sniff*
I could have used those Zs, too. I’ve been busier than a one-armed paper hanger in a…
“You can’t say things like that anymore. It’s insensitive.”
You’re kidding, right?
*rolly eyes* Fine. I’m too tired to argue so I’ll rephrase. I’ve been busier than a one-legged man in an ass kicking contest who…
“NO!! That’s even worse!”
Hogwash. I’d argue that if I was a one-legged man, I’d definitely join an ass-kicking contest to prove…
“Do you want me to die from an apoplectic fit brought about by righteous indignation over here? You can’t use uni-limbed people as the butt of a joke.”
“Using the number one focuses on singularity, not inclusiveness.”
*blink**blink*…I…I can’t even…. *sigh* Second: it wasn’t a joke, it was an expression. Nobody was the butt of anything.
“Doesn’t matter. You can’t quantify your own mild discomforts with the struggles of the uni-limbed.”
*grinds teeth* O….kay. Let’s try this again. I’m busier than…than…a bee?
“DEAR LORD BETHIE!!! Don’t you know about the struggles bees are having now with colony collapse?? We’re going to starve within ten years and you use their plight for your comedic whims?! YOU MONSTER. Maybe YOU planted the fungus in the bee hives!”
*tic* *tic* *spasm*
I bought a few craft supplies the other day. The local cheap store was having a sale, and my youngest and I eagerly pawed through the carts to see if there was something we could find to break the hazy, humid malaise that clung to us that afternoon. Sadly, there was no glitter. But we did find some really cool neon gel pens. Score! And then in the bottom of the cart, we saw pipe cleaners.
Have you ever played with pipe cleaners? Who hasn’t, right? They used to be far more popular than they are now. When we were kids, it seemed like we had a never ending supply of the brightly colored fuzzy wires. Of course, we also had tons of pom poms to use with the pipe cleaners. To my chagrin, the sale cart contained no pom poms. Once home, we had to make do with buttons. Not the same, but still fun.
We took our bounty home and while the kiddo tested out the gel pens, I went to open the pipe cleaners and noticed that they are no longer called “pipe cleaners.” What are pipe cleaners now called, you ask?
“Because any reference to smoking or smoking related materials could lead to…”
Stop it. Just stop it right now. I guarantee that no kindergartener in the history of ever has thought, “Gee, these pipe cleaners sure are fun. Anyone got a light?”
Pipe cleaners have never been a gateway to anything. Your child did not become a stoner because he made a pipe cleaner and pom pom caterpillar in Miss Skidova’s class.
What’s happening to us, people? What are we even doing anymore?
We have to start drawing lines and stop being offended or scared by every little thing. Calling people racist words? Bad. Stereotypes? Bad. Sayings that put one group on a higher level than another? Unless the group is on a higher level because they build ladders, stair cases, or elevators, also bad.
But, there are really harmless things in the world that are only offensive and dangerous if you start out looking for them to be. If you look for something, you’ll find it. That’s the pisser in being human. We have imaginations that make our minds find proof of our beliefs instead of seeing the truth. We’re programmed to think we’re right, and to find evidence of our rightness so we can log on to the internet and show everyone just how right we are…no matter how wrong we might be.
Not a single one-armed, one-legged, ass kicking paper hanger ever got hooked on cigs because of pipe cleaners, so stop it. Stop looking for an excuse to be angry, folks. The world has enough shit in it without you trying to drum up more. You want to be angry? Get angry at real, tangible problems.
Thus concludes a Musing for Tuesday, July 21, 2015. If I’ve offended you with my offensive offense, I apologize. It’s not your fault I’m on edge. I’ve just been jonesin’ for a smoke since I made that pipe cleaner and button flower…