I don’t think it’s any secret that I love monkeys. No, that’s not true. I’m obsessed with monkeys. And lest you think it’s just me, my cousin has informed me that her daughter also has an intense love for monkeys as does another cousin of mine. A family thing? Probably not, the rest of the family is totally repulsed by our monkey love.
Anyway, my love for monkeys began when I was quite young and continues to this day. Just ask my loving and patient husband who has to stare at a monkey every time he, ahem, avails himself of the facilities. Seriously, if you want to know the real deal with me and the monkeys, just read my post, Miracles and Monkeys.
As any good monkey lover knows, you simply have to love bananas. And in 1978, I was one monkey~loving~banana~eating kid. So much so that my mom used to keep the bananas on top of the refrigerator to keep me from getting at them. One day I decided that I absolutely had to have a banana and my mother was taking too long to get me one, so I decided to help myself. I pushed a chair over to the counter, climbed up and sssssttttreeeetched until I was able to reach the bananas. I grabbed the bunch, took one, put the others back and ~ in my excitement ~ started unpeeling the banana and tumbling backwards at the same time.
I ended up with a giant knot on my head (if you rub the top of my head, you can still feel the bump). To this day, I do not eat bananas and my mother does not keep them on the top of the refrigerator.
This post was written in response to Any Excuse for a Party by Mrs. TDJ (y’all please check out her blog, she is hilarious). Also I think she may possibly be my “real” twin. Sorry, Shontel. You know I love you and all that other sentimental stuff but, dude, read her posts, she’s like me ~ only funny.