“It was here a minute ago, I can’t believe I lost it.”
“Lost what?” Says the giant rutabaga, in a profoundly deep voice.
I ignore him, and continue searching.
I can feel the deep bass vibrations rattle my fillings as the rutabaga raises his voice.
“Yo! Don’t ignore me. What was it? What did you lose?”
Not being in the habit of talking to root vegetables, I continue to ignore him. That’s when the tree opens her big bold bodaciously beautiful baby blue eyes and chimes in.
“Boy, that big ol’ turnip’s talking to you. Put some manners in that citified mouth of yours, and answer him.” Her voice reminds me of Flip Wilson’s Geraldine character.
“Hey, Lady Lovely Leaves, I ain’t no dirt suckin’ turnip,” rumbles the rutabaga. If she is Geraldine he’s very very Barry White.
“Leaves? Leaves! I don’t have leaves. Do I look like one of those leaf shedders to you? I’m a conifer, Pinus Pungens to be exact.”
“Alright! Alright! Don’t get your roots in a knot, some of my best friends are deciduous.”
The tree and vegetable continue to natter negatively, but I’m too distracted by my feet sinking into the quicksand. Quicksand! Holy shit! When did my front yard turn into a bog. Double holy shit! When did I get a front yard, I live in an apartment building.
“Okay don’t panic, the key to escaping quicksand is the four S’s: Stretch out, Slowly Swim to Safety.”
The voice is mellifluous, intelligent and comforting. Should it bother me that it comes from a mosquito? Should I listen to potentially life saving advice from a blood-sucking pest? Blood-sucking pest … the mosquito grows and becomes uglier, morphing into a used car sales- (please note I am being politically correct here) –person. Quicksand’s up to my knees, time to take the advice or. … Wait, my wings! Of course, my wings. Flap, flap, flap I rise above the quagmire and settle on the branch of a tree.
“What are you doing Mister Muddy Feet! Did I invite you up here? Do I go leaving my nasty old root prints all over your body?”
Shit, shit, shit on a stick! It’s Geraldine the Prickly Pine, again. I hurriedly leap off her branch, and remember that I don’t have wings. Ouch, I fall splaying out on the thick, thick grassy knoll. And there it is, yes, yes, yes! Found it. I scoop it up and place my lost sanity back where it belongs.
The rutabaga’s gone, the tree’s gone, the mosquito/salesperson is gone, the grass is gone, the bog’s gone, the front yard is gone. I‘m, gratefully, back where I belong, sitting in my apartment watching TV. A political debate is on; damn, the blood-sucking pests are still here!
*** END ***