After my usual night time routine of feeding my fish, taking Nixon the World’s Greatest Dog, EVAR (suck on that Chuck) and his sidekick, the dopey Diera, out for a potty break involving barking at porupines and howling at the moon, plucking my chin hairs out in the bathroom while moaning about the giant zit on my nose and then flossing my teeth, I flipped off the bathroom light and crawled into bed next to my husband.

“Wanna rub my back?” I waggled my eyebrows at him in the dark.

“No.”

“Fine. Don’t ever say the candy store hasn’t opened after hours only for you to refuse to shop,” I pouted.

“Pfft. Whatever.”

Silence ensued for a moment while I pouted. I am very mature like that. Then as I rolled over to check to make sure the alarm clock was set for the ungodly hour my husband has to rise at to leave for work I remembered my dream from the night before.

“I dreamt last night that you abandoned me in a food court and stole a monkey.”

Boo yawned (something about him having to leave for work at five in the morning and not get home until seven at night makes him sleepy these days,) and muttered something about having great luck in finding a wife with a twisted imagination.

“It was really vivid. You completely loved this monkey more than me. I stood in the food court trying to beg Asian tourists for money so I could scrape up enough cash to buy a Big Mac. Then I saw you pull out a big wad of cash and hand it to the monkey and the two of you went and bought ice cream cones while I stood pandering to the public, begging them to feed me.”

“I hope it was Rocky Road ice cream. Or a banana split. The monkey totally deserves a banana split,” Boo joked.

“Pfft. There is no joking about my traumatic dreams. I wonder what the dream meant,” I queried.

“It means you need to give me blow jobs more often. You are obviously worried you aren’t fulfilling my needs.”

“Hahaha. Nice try. The candy store closed for the night. You had your chance pretty boy.” Because I am totally petty like that.

Silence fell over us only broken by Nixon making soft snorting sounds as he settled in beside me for the evening. Just as I was relaxing enough to fall asleep Boo piped up,”I wonder what a person would have to do to take his monkey to the zoo.”

“What?”

“I said, I wonder what a person would have to do to take his monkey to the zoo?”

“What the hell are you talking about?” I yawned.

“You know, if you owned a monkey and you wanted to take it to the zoo so it could see all the other animals. What would you do?”

“Why in hell would you want to bring your monkey to a zoo?” I asked as I rolled over to see if my husband was shitting me. He sounded sane but this conversation was entirely insane.

“So it could see all the other monkeys! Think about it Tanis. Would the zoo administration let you in with the monkey or would they see the monkey and think it was theirs and then try and put it in the monkey cage with all of the other monkeys while you stood there and tried to tell them that it was YOUR monkey and he came in with you. You weren’t stealing it.”

“Who the hell takes their monkey to the zoo?” I couldn’t seem to get past this point.

“Micheal Jackson took his monkey to the zoo,” Boo pointed out. Because Micheal Jackson was the epitome of normal human behaviour.

“No, Micheal Jackson built a zoo AROUND his monkey. He didn’t just walk into zoos around the world with Bubbles on his shoulder so they could toss peanuts at all the other monkeys.” I think. I mean it’s not like I’m an expert on Micheal’s monkey practices or anything.

“Still, would they make you register the monkey at the gate and fill out paperwork or would you simply take your chances?”

“Ya, because this scenario plays out daily in zoos across the country. People live in fear of having their monkeys accidentally confiscated when they take them to the zoo.”

“It could happen,” he huffed.

“Why would you want to take your monkey to the zoo in the first place Boo?” At this point I was rather incredulous I was even participating in this conversation.

“You know, so he could visit his little monkey friends.”

“Ya, because all monkeys in the world know each other. You can’t see me but I’m totally rolling my eyes at you in the dark Boo. That’s just illogical.”

“Think about it Tanis. If you were the last person on earth and everyone else had relocated to Mars and you finally made your way over there, wouldn’t they all be glad to see you as the last known person who lived on Earth?”

That stumped me. “Well, I suppose they would. For all of five minutes. Then they’d be all ‘Get a job you worthless mooch. Don’t be thinking just cuz you were the last one to make your way to Mars that we are going to give you a free ride.’ Then they’d grab a broom and tell me to get off their lawn. I’m pretty sure monkeys would be the same. Minus the job part.”

“I wonder what would happen if your monkey got locked in with all the other monkeys. You know, after the zoo officials accidentally confiscated your monkey thinking it was theirs.”

Oh my GAWD. It’s almost midnight and I’m really having this conversation with my husband. Who is absolutely and completely earnest and sincere about the fate of this imaginary monkey. What has our marriage deteriorated to?

“Well Boo, I suppose it would be like the last Earthling to make it to Mars. They would all gather around the new monkey, sniff and poke and prod him and then eventually someone would start flinging poo.”

At that mental image we both started laughing out loud. Because monkeys flinging poo are always amusing no matter what time of the day.

“I have to say Boo, I’m still stuck on why a monkey would even want to visit a zoo. Seems to me the monkey would likely see all the other zoo inmates and then spiral into a great pit of monkey despair knowing that all his little monkey buddies didn’t share his lot in life.” Oh great. Now I’m actually becoming earnest and sincere in this discussion about our imaginary monkey pal.

“Nah, I’d think the monkey would be all ‘neener neener’ to all the other animals, like the hippopotamuses and the zebras, and then him and his owner would stand at the monkey cage and toss peanuts to the other primates to show their solidarity with the banana suckers. It’d be their version of providing monkey welfare checks. But with peanuts.”

“You are insane and I can’t believe we have just wasted ten minutes of our lives talking about monkeys when you could have been rubbing my back,” I laughed.

We giggled for a second, a moment of clarity in our insane conversation, and then silence ensued once more. I rolled back over once more and tried to erase all memory of monkey talk from my brain as I settled in for slumber.

A few seconds later, the silence was shattered when Boo piped up, “They wrote a book about what would happen if you take your monkey to the zoo you know.”

Sighing into my pillow, I mumbled, “No they did not. No one takes their monkey to the zoo Boo.”

Boo remained silent for a moment or so more and then he insisted, “Yes Tanis, they did. I swear to you, there is a book about what would happen if you take your monkey to the zoo. We should buy it so we have it for a reference if we ever get a monkey and want to take it to the zoo.”

Realizing at this point there was no way to shut my obviously sincere husband up about the plight of his imaginary monkey and his desire to take it to the zoo, I sighed and said, “Fine. What’s the name of this book and I’ll check it out on Amazon and get it for you.”

The things I agree to do all in the name of marital harmony amaze me sometimes.

“Curious George Visits the Zoo,” Boo replied. With out batting an eyelash or cracking a smile.

I couldn’t help it. I cracked up.

“Shut up. I can’t believe you had this long winded conversation with me all to get to a punch line of a damn joke. Man, I must be tired,” I chuckled as my darling husband laughed so hard he about rolled off his side of the bed. “Good night you monkey lover,” I giggled and then closed my eyes once more.

Five minutes later, just as I was on the precipice of sleep and Nixon snored softly in the dark, Boo quietly asked, “Tanis?”

“What Boo?” I mumbled.

“Do you know what the moral of the story in that book is?”

“No Boo. I never liked Curious George. Never read him.”

“Oh. Okay.”

I could tell he was trying to get at something so with a heavy sigh I rolled back towards him and asked (in a rather patronizing tone, but hey it was after midnight by this point,) “Tell me Boo. What is the moral of the story?”

I could see him smile in the dark.

“Don’t bring your f*cking monkey to the zoo,” he snorted in laughter.

I couldn’t help it. I smothered him with my pillow and when he stopped twitching I rolled back over and finally went to sleep.

*I later learned he had this same damn conversation earlier on in the day with his buddy Mack. Those two really need to stop spending so much time together or start having more interesting conversations to recycle with me before I murder them both.*