We're All Damaged

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

Congratulations, It’s a Spider Monkey

This past weekend, my wife and I re-visited one of our favorite places here: the London Zoo. Like a lot of places in England, the zoo would probably be more fun if it weren’t for the soul-crushing lack of sunshine, but, all things considered, it’s a pretty cool place. The animals are different, more polite and bumbling than their American counterparts. The giraffes, for example, wear ascots, and the penguins work part-time as waiters in the zoo’s café.

Halfway through our day, though, as I stood happily eating what the Brits call an “ice lolly,” I came to a startling realization. There’s a pretty good chance that my daughter, who is due in October, is going to look like a spider monkey.

Allow me to explain.

We were in the monkey house, and, like we all do in monkey houses, we were staring at the chimps. There were two of them there. One was mugging shamelessly for the camera, smiling and blowing kisses, while the other was scratching its butt to the delight of children. That’s when I looked over at a much smaller, less celebrated glass enclosure. There, reclusive behind some leaves and holding a plum with its foot, dangled the oddest member of the monkey family.

I’ve spent a lot of time on this blog blogging about how devastatingly good-looking I am, but I’ve done so ironically. The truth is, my body looks like something that farmers set out in their fields to frighten crows away in the 1930s. And my wife, although she wears her lankiness far more elegantly than I do, is, shall we say, significantly taller than necessary. I’m no geneticist—nor do I have anything beyond the vaguest understanding of what DNA is—but I’m fairly certain that our now-combined genes will have no choice but to produce what will only be able to be described as a freakish marvel of modern science.

“What are you looking at?” my wife asked.

I pointed through the glass. The spider monkey—a little female, of course—hung upside down now, as if swinging from the light above our future kitchen table. Perhaps it was my imagination, but she seemed to be looking directly at us as she ate her plum.

“What is that?” asked my wife.

“It’s the most adorable thing ever,” I said.

1 comment:

  1. Whoa, Matt Norman waxes emotional and doesn't reference alcohol in a single post. Now that's progress!

    I heart Matt