“Hey, you’ve got a smart mouth!”
I know, I know. Not like I haven’t been hearing that my whole
life, and by “smart,” no one means “intelligent.” I can’t help myself. I have a naturally sassy wit and an
exceptionally rapid-fire brain coupled with an extremely trigger-sensitive set
of vocal chords (or fingers, if I’m in Cyberland).
Take today, for
example. A good and kind friend spends a
large chunk of her day trying to determine if flyers about rescuing stray cats
are real flyers or some kind of scam to get animals for bait or experiments or
just for cruelty and sick fun. Someone
surreptitiously delivered said flyers around my friend’s urban neighborhood,
and there is no information about this supposed rescue organization anywhere
online or through any local shelters or animal hospitals or police stations.
Very shady.
Later in the day (still
today, for it cannot yet be tomorrow until I post this, then tomorrow will be
today and today will be yesterday), this same friend helps to rescue a stray
cat near her apartment. She (my friend,
not the cat) has connections with a real and honest organization, the Melrose
Humane Society (which keeps autocorrecting to Human Society – go figure), so
she summons the real rescuers to help.
Me? I recommend she call the name on the creepy
and suspect flyer, the seemingly fake organization I have hence named the
Dorchester Soylent Green Kitty Factory.
Here’s a bit of our exchange (paraphrased for clarity, of course).
SHE: Melrose
Humane Society just picked the cat up.
ME: I
thought you'd sell it to that Dorchester Soylent Green Kitty Factory.
SHE: BAD
HELIAND!
ME: Hey,
you're the one who posted an ad for strays then gets one the same day. Don't be
poking the bear. Let me know if it's a
legit rescue organization or if I have to stop eating the kitty animal crackers.
SHE: You
know you’re going to Hell.
ME: Not
until September when school starts again.
Another friend posts online about grammar awareness,
targeting English teachers correcting syntactical errors in grocery
stores. Hahahahaha …. Ummmm …. Guilty. I somewhat proudly yet somewhat obsessively
admit to being at the store deli and seeing a punctuation error on the display
case. The store is selling HOT DOG’S. I stare at the words and stare and stare and
finally lean forward and scrape away the unnecessary apostrophe with my index
fingernail. I mean, seriously. What part
of the damn HOT DOG are you selling,
anyway? And, if it’s still in its
natural casing, does that mean I have to order it uncircumcised?
Ew. Just ew.
Finally, another friend (holy crap, I have three friends –
it’s almost like I’m popular … almost … okay, not even remotely, but humor me)
posts a picture of what looks like a gathering of alien pods. Turns out to be bitter melon. She very politely poses the following
question in her post –
SHE: My
current culinary conundrum - bitter melon. Talk to me food people. What does it
taste like - what do I do with it.
(Other people respond with helpful and thoughtful
suggestions.)
ME: You
hold bitter melon up to the cucumbers and bitterly scream, "THIS ... THIS
is your future, you old crone!"
ANOTHER PAL:
I thought if you remove the seeds it’s not as bitter.
ME: That
explains why post-menopausal women are so freaking happy.
This same friend posted an honestly curious picture about
a Japanese restaurant that only serves stuffed animals. The picture has a bunch of fluffy toys with
plates full of pancakes in front of them.
Me? I go right back to the old
standard – a picture of a rabbit with pancakes on its head. I don’t know why. I mean, I know people are posting serious
questions and serious topics, but my brain doesn’t work that way. My brain misfires and goes off like a
frigging July 4th firecracker; BOOM!
Sparks and smoke and debris every damn place. It’s like a giant clusterf*** inside my
skull.
I cannot help myself.
I have a smart mouth sometimes – too often – and I get myself into
trouble. I have stopped counting how
many times people tell me I’m a straight-shooter when I say these things out
loud. “We always know where we stand
with you,” they say. I don’t know what
that means. Why wouldn’t you want to
know where you stand? Would you rather
be lost? Is this just a semi-polite way
of telling me I have verbal diarrhea?
And how come I know how to spell diarrhea without needing
Spellcheck?
I know, I know. Go
stand in the corner. It’s okay. I’ll munch on some soylent green kitty animal
crackers and consider repenting. Maybe
it will help me be less bitter.
