'darling, don't you monkey with the monkey'

Saturday I spent a chunk of my afternoon running a variety of errands and basking in the brief respite we've had to this Midwestern winter. It was a super busy day, but it was also a chance to plop on the giant sunglasses, crack the windows in the mini, and bounce along to Kid Rock's Cocky* (and then be all "what the...?" when Beethoven's Symphony No. 9 was the next selection on the iPod) as the fiery mane of hotness billowed, supermodel style, in the breeze that kicks up when one is driving 35 mph down a suburban residential roadway.

Once back home, I made a quick trip to my local gas station/convenience store/wine cellar/softcore porn shop/Spencer's Gifts for a refill on my life's blood. Armed with my refillable 44 ounce fountain cup, I breezed in the front door, thinking maybe I'd like a snack to go along with my delicious Diet Mountain Dewy delight. "Perhaps an Almond Joy?" I asked myself. "You do know those are good for when you feel like a nut, right?" I replied. Vowing to think about my choice a bit longer, I hit my stride past the Krispy Kreme donut case and started to round the corner to the soda fountain. It was then, as I neared my approach, that I heard it.

Loud, self-assured, intent, and cockier than old Kid Rock up there could ever imagine being, let along sing about.

A hardcore wolf whistle.

For the briefest of seconds, I froze, and without turning my head, did a peripheral scan of the store. No one to my right. OK. What's that? The slightest hint of movement to my left! Oh, it's just the lady managing the store, gazing out the window and completely oblivious to me, which is fine, really, because while she appeared smart looking and self assured, and thus just my type, I didn't wish to break her heart by informing her as I plopped down my $1.59 that I didn't often get invited to the girl parties.

Cleared on either side of me, that must have meant the person with the great lungs and good taste (I'm not trying to brag, really, but I was rocking a good hair day and a good hair day coupled with a "what'chu gonna do wit all dat junk" in some good jeans moment can work wonders for anyone's big head) was behind me, admiring the view. This thought prompted a boost in my ego that caused my spine to lengthen and my rack to puff out, like a mating bird in the rainforests of South America. It also gave me a better view off the glass on the refrigerator case ahead of me, which, coupled with the previous mentioned giant sunglasses, meant I could check out my apparent admirer on the downlow.

But I saw nothing. NOTHING!

"Maybe they ducked behind the latest People magazine and display of fuzzy handcuffs so you wouldn't see them!" I said to myself. "Probably. You're probably right." I replied, curious and slightly charmed. Enough so that I turned around under the guise of wanting to pick up this week's copy of The Sporting News and the Penny Saver in hopes of bumping into my fan. Prepared to be entirely super casual, I put a puckery smile on my face and rounded the corner.

Where I bumped into nothing. NOTHING!

"Maybe your powerful sense of self and extreme confidence scared them and they ducked out after whistling," I said to myself. "Maybe you're right," I responded. "If such is the case, this store really should look into a security bell on their door. Who knows what kind of hooligans come in here day to day!"

I then turned and proceeded back to the soda fountain. I'd taken two giant steps past a display of Valentine cards and toys when I heard it again. The same cocky wolf whistle that got my heart beating all fast and giddy just moments ago. I whipped around, fiery mane of hotness flying everywhere, and immediately noticed my adoring fan.

Dangling by their furry arms along the bottom of the Valentine gift display, under the giant plush roses and "i have a 'heart' on for you" shot glasses, was a row of plush orangutans. Planting myself right in front of them, hand on my jutted hip, I didn't have to wait long for one of them - the cute one in the middle - to leer at me, maybe run it's monkey paw over it's nonexistant down there dingle dangle, and whistle again. Once again, I was compelled to look around the store. This time not to finger the culprit, but to hide my embarrassement in hopes that no one had actually seen me acting like I had a secret admirer willing to follow me into the local convenience store/wine cellar/softcore porn shop/Spencer's Gifts.

(and also not to notice that a stuffed whistling monkey made me blush and giggle and say "Awww! Me? You think I'm hot, little monkey?! Or do you know I've always had a thing for the tree swingers?")

Thankfully, the lady at the cash register was still there, still gazing out the window and still oblivious to my existence.

With a very quiet chuckle to myself, I again made my way to the soda fountain (seriously, by this point, I was jonesing for some pop!), but I certainly didn't miss the fact that just a few seconds later, two hot guys walked through the doors and my sexy simian sweethearts didn't serande them with wolf whistles.

"Definitely must be dude monkeys," I said to myself. "Oh, no doubt," I replied. "Dude monkeys with an extreme level of self confidence to be able to rock the pink and white hair bows and heart collars."

To make my two fella fellow shoppers feel better, however, I did wolf whistle at them in my head. Even Stevens.

In the end, I got my delicious beverage refill, settled on a 100 Grand bar - the perfect marriage of all the good things that make up a quality high calorie treat, minus the nuts, because the real nutjobs are out there - and made a bit of small talk with Daydream Believer (by The Monkees. Ha! Check it! Totally unintentional and not noticed until editing, when I was all "Oh! Hahahaha! You're so cute and ironic, you!") behind the cash register. On my way out the door, I glanced around the store one last time - this time to assure myself the coast was clear - then turned briefly and gave my fake furry friends a wink. And OK, I may have pointed to the cute pink one in the middle and blew him a little kiss.

You and me, monkey. We got it goin' on.

*This song contains lyrics the likes of which I sometimes use in the following cases:

• Striking my thumb with a hammer. Hard.
• Yelling at someone in my head simply to make myself feel better and then move on.
• Pretending to be the star of soft-core Cinemax after dark films.

Listen at your own discretion, yet know that I kick ass in a little dance to this when no one is around.