I am Human and I need to be loved
Just like everybody else does
There's a club, if you'd like to go
You could meet somebody who really loves you
~ “How Soon Is Now?” by The Smiths
I have a Magic 8 Ball on my desk at work. The girl who sits next to me has one on her desk as well. Hers is generally helpful and has a percentage of accuracy which impresses everyone. Mine is just as consistent . . . consistently mean, that is. I have a mean-spirited Magic 8 Ball. It always gives the mean answer – no matter what you ask it. It senses the asker’s deepest hopes and smashes them against the rocks of anguish. I warn people before they ask it a question. People don’t listen. They laugh off my warning and read the response, only to burst out in tears when they find out that the trip they had been planning will not happen or that the boyfriend will not propose EVER! It is inevitable that after being offended by my Magic 8 Ball, a person will move on to my co-worker’s desk where her Magic 8 ball will make nice, improving work relations and karma. Mine, on the other hand, exists solely to make people hate me. Grrrrrrrr.
Moving on. . . I walked into the house the other evening, after working at the studio. My parents were sitting together in the oversized chair, watching some crime drama (Law and Order”, maybe. I greeted them and prepared to walk downstairs when out of the blue Mi Madre says, “You’re not a cougar.”
*screeching brakes and an automobile crash echoed in my head*
Me: “What did you just say?”
Mi Madre: “I said, ‘You’re not a cougar.’ Cougars are over 40. You’re not even close to 40. I think you are a leopard.”
Me: “Um, I know I am not a cougar. But what about a leopard?”
Mi Madre: “I was watching some show and it was talking about women who date younger men and that women in their 30’s are some other animal; but not a cougar. Like a leopard or a tiger . . . wait, that’s it, I think you are a tiger.”
Me: “A tiger?”
Mi Madre: “Yes, a tiger. They are nothing like cougars.”
Me: *staring blankly at my mother*
Mi Madre: “So, you don’t have to worry about it. No one thinks you are a cougar.”
Me: “Um, okay then. Thanks for that. And what is he then? A cub?”
Mi Madre: “I don’t think he has a name. Just you do – and it’s a tiger.”
Me: “Good night.”
Mi Madre: “Good night. Love you.”
I walked downstairs and attempted to replay, in my mind, the conversation in which I had just participated. It made my head hurt. Anyway, every woman deserves her own Ashton – just ask Demi Moore (but not my Magic 8 Ball, which clearly disagrees).
PERSONAL NOTE: I am sorry I hurt your feelings. My comment was thoughtless.
CONFIDENTIAL NOTE: You are in my thoughts as you work things out, together!
