Once upon a time they took residence under beds and behind closet doors. They crept out only at night, had big pointy fangs, musty blood stained fur and claws that would tear little feet to shreds if they dared to dangle too long over the side of the bed. This is the world of a child and it is very real to them. If you don't believe me, go ahead and waste your precious time convincing one otherwise.
Wiser years fast approach and with them a crippling realization. These monsters are not merely confined to the spaces we once believed.
Children can be soooo naive.
Cautiously approaching the portal intersection of West Kennedy Blvd. and Dale Mabry, I immediately recognize Zombie Pops wandering about, holding a sign with the words "Will Work For Brains" scribbled across its face in black Sharpie marker. As luck would have it the light turns red and there I am face to face with a real life monster. Of course, he seems harmless enough...but I know better. I can read.
I roll down my window (push the little down button thingy that is) and motion for him to pay me a visit and he obliges, methodically. Very methodically. Okay, so it took him a painfully long damn time to make his way over to me. Eyes sullen...listless posture...yep...he's been compromised.
"POPS!" I say to him. "I've got a bag of
I grow understandably anxious.
With a nervous laugh, I blurt out "Some ravioli in there...no need for a can opener, ha ha!"
Then a sense of calm filtered through my body like cool water. A moment of clarity came upon me and before I hand Pops the care package I ask him "do you know Jazz Hands?" accompanied with a visual reference deployment. His eyes light up and feverishly shakes his hands in return.
"Jarzzz Hnnnnnds!?" he responds. I think.
His zombie face, glowing green, delivers a toothy smile and I hand over the anti-virus kit I had meticulously prepared for him. A honk from behind me suggests that I'm keeping the traffic from traveling through the portal. I prepare for takeoff and notice Pops, perched back onto his median curb, waving to me and shouting unimpeded "Jazzzz Hands!!!" Not only did I understand his words clearly, but he looked to be standing taller, healthier than before...yet he had not consumed one mg of sodium.
Once upon a time Jazz Hands was thought to be an infection of sorts...not unlike a zombie virus. At one point I sensed the onslaught of a Jazz Hands apocalypse. As it turns out, logic suggests that hand jazzing may actually be something of a miracle cure-all antidote. Go figure.
Grown-ups can be soooo naive.
Today's Jazz Hands prevented the apocalypse. Day one-hundred and fifty-six complete.
No comments:
Post a Comment