The time you dressed your monkey in that lil’ devil costume in the middle of July even though his tail required more room than the interior of that lil’ foam pitchfork provided.

The time you agreed to a second playdate for your monkey and your best friend’s monkey even after your best friend’s monkey refused to return the favor when your monkey picked all the fleas and ticks off his spoiled little back.

The time you signed your monkey up for the talent show and handed him an accordion and just expected him to know what to do with it, but, since accordion ability is not an inheritable trait, he just stood there on the stage looking nervous.

The time you asked your monkey if he still wanted to play little league after your monkey got beamed in the face with a baseball and then the coach made a comment about how it would make an ape out of him and then you told the coach that you valued your monkey’s safety and well-being more than you valued societal gender norms.

The time you raised hell at the school after your monkey told you that his science teacher had made an offhandedly condescending reference to your monkey’s physical and mental development in class while showing the class an artistic rendering of the evolution of man.

The time you made your monkey a hemp shell necklace instead of buying him one and unthinkingly included a pink bead in the mix and got him promptly ridiculed at the lunch table.

The time you wondered aloud if it was a sex thing or something after all your monkey’s friends cracked up after you casually mentioned that he had been eating an awful lot of bananas lately.

The time you drove your monkey and his friend who just happened to be female to the homecoming dance and didn’t change the radio station when “Darling, You Look Wonderful Tonight” came on and then had the nerve to admonish him when he quickly turned the dial.

The time you blatantly sniffed your monkey’s fur in front of everyone in the whole entire world when you picked him up from that My Morning Jacket concert.

The time you took three pictures at graduation instead of the customary two and made him stand awkwardly with the superintendent’s hand in his paw for at least five fucking seconds, mom.

But at least you never spanked your monkey in public.

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Lee Blevins lives in Lexington, Kentucky. He used to have this beautiful ceramic lioness. But he broke it. And hasn’t been the same since.