This weekend, a nearby Hill Country town held its annual spring festival/carnival, which included the usual merry-go-rounds, spin-till-you-puke rides and a fun house.
It also included a little screaming monkey dressed in pajamas, with a man encouraging little kids to sit with the monkey on their laps while he took pictures.
Okay, aside from the inherent ick factor, I had one of Oprah’s trademark “Aha!” moments—when a screaming monkey bites your face, remove him from your lap.
This kid was sitting there, holding the screaming monkey trying to give it a kiss, and, as screaming monkeys forced to dress in pajamas are wont to do, it nipped the kid right in the nose. This prompted the kid to scream, but he tried to give the monkey another kiss, and surprise surprise, the monkey bit him again.
The kid kept kissing the screaming monkey, and the screaming monkey kept biting the kid, prompting the kid to scream even more. Misery does in fact, love company.
How many times in life have we tried to kiss a screaming monkey and got bit in the face, and are shocked, shocked I tell you, that when we continue kissing the screaming monkey, it continues to bite us in the face?
From this point on, I plan to avoid people who make a habit of kissing screaming monkeys. These are the people in your life who constantly get themselves in trouble—the same trouble they always get into, then once again come screaming to you for your help, your time, your money, your left kidney . . .
Instead of those valuable resources, I plan to give them some valuable advice. Get the screaming monkey off your lap.
I’ve got my own screaming monkeys to deal with.