Stop Thinking Like A People
February 19, 2015
There was no point in procrastinating any longer. As far as waiting for the “right time,” well, in this particular situation, the clock never rests on that moment. So with firm compassion and a seriously determined resolve I told her just as straight forwardly as I could under the circumstances, “I want a divorce!” Though it really didn’t come out of left field, a look of shock crossed her face. Followed by sorrow, fear and of course, the expected response, “Why?” Because, I said, knowing that even though they ask “why?” no why will ever answer the question, because I’m not happy. Because I don’t see this relationship going in any direction that I want. Because I think we’d be better off if we weren’t together. “Is there someone else?” Why does there always have to be “someone else”? Even if there were, would you really want to know? You’d think it was obvious the dance has ended and you are alone on the floor. So why not take the hint? So...”There is someone else!”
By this point, John Q. (my stuffed, yellow, bear sidekick) and I were breaking our necks trying to lean back over the adjoining booths seat. Eavesdropping on personal matters is not endorsed. But if you go blabbing your tales of relationship woes at a public bar, don’t expect people not to listen. John’s curiosity got the best of him- “So was there? Another girl you were kissing on the face of her head?” He blurted. Then pointed to the guy’s dinner companion, “Is it her? Are you the other woman person?” Boy, if looks could kill. They were embarrassed (and obviously screwing around) John was still curious and I was ready to leave.
You know that feeling you get, when you’ve eavesdropped too long and drunk too much. Then you stand up and...instant drunk. Starting to sit back down, but John says he’s good and knows a fun place. Crawling into the truck I black out.
Vision coming back...speedometer says we’re doing 78mph. The cruise control is on and John is driving. He’s singing along with Katy Perry who is cranked up on the radio. It’d probably be best to black back out now.
The cold night wind is quite sobering. Currently being led across a parking lot by a little yellow bear into... another bar? I catch a glimpse of neon, “The Bare Necessities.” The darkness inside does not help the blurry vision, but at least it’s warm. John seats me then takes off, returning moments later with an arm load of candies. He says he got me some too and to get ready it’s about to start. Suddenly the lights go Technicolor bright, illuminating a stage running down the middle of the room. We’ve got a front row seat and John gives me his “Isn’t this exciting and fun” smile. A curtain at the back of the stage spreads open and slowly and seductively she steps out. It’s a little light blue stuffed bear in a dark blue tutu. WTF? Looking around I realize that 90% of the patrons are also stuffies. The only humans are myself, one waitress in a bunny suit and that weird guy over there who’s grinning like a loon. The little blue bear girl makes her way across the stage. Is she already nude? What could she possibly take off...aside from the tutu? Do stuffies have hidden junk? A million questions for John and he only has one answer: “Stop thinking like a people and enjoy the fun!”
Suddenly a rock anthem version of the Teddy Bear’s Picnic blares from the speakers. The little blue bear (who John informs me is named Veronica D.) starts jumping up and down, bouncing around the stage and waving her arms. Everyone throws candy and sings along. Balloons fall from the ceiling, exploding with puffs of pink smoke and sparkles as they hit the floor. John leaps to the stage and he and Veronica hop in tandem laughing. This is insane! Utter chaotic madness! Oh what the hell, I leap onto the stage and start hopping around too, and you know what? It is nice to stop taking things so human. This is the most fun I’ve had in...I wake up! My house, my bed and my little yellow bear looking worried. He asks if I’m OK and apologizes. He thought the mushrooms he picked from the yard would make the pancakes he made for me that morning taste yummier...but instead I just fell over.
So it was a shroom-induced dream. There was no stuffie strip bar. Later while doing the laundry I find a Hershey Kiss wrapper with a phone number beside a capital V in John’s shirt. So was it all real? After a moment’s consideration and hesitation, I carefully tuck the wrapper back into John’s pocket. Why analyze the harmless? Why question happiness? Why not, at least every now and again, stop thinking like a people.
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