Cry Me a Whole Handful

I recently finished the first two books in The Hunger Games series and although they’re not my usual cup of tea, I have to say that I did enjoy them. I was especially impressed that even being young adult novels, they contained such superb character development that the events in the books literally moved me to tears. Several times.  Since I had to wait until payday to download the third book onto my kindle (I’ve reached my budgeted book buying quota for this week), I thought I would talk Dewie into reading the first two. I thought she would enjoy them given her obsession with the show Spartacus. Take out the soft porn, replace the gladiators with kids and throw in a little Beyond the Thunderdome, and it’s eerily similar. I was right. She was hooked.

Dewie tends to be fairly sensitive. When we watch sad movies she’s always the first to start sniffling, especially if it involves kids. Being the evil schemer that I am, I decided I would monitor her progress in the books, estimate when she got to the sad parts, wait for her to cry, and make fun of her.

The next evening, the two of us were lying in bed reading. Knowing a tear-jerker moment was quickly approaching, I casually asked her what was happening in the book. Not bothering to look up, she simply muttered, “Wasps.” I looked at the clock, and estimated an hour, maybe a little less until the first moment of pure, pitiful sadness. About an hour later she puts the kindle down and declares that she’s tired. Confused and a little disappointed, I ask her again where she is in the book.

“Rue just died.”

Ok, now I’m just annoyed. “You didn’t find that… sad?”

“Yeah, it was sad.”

“You didn’t get a little misty eyed, you know with the flowers and the bread and what not?” She just looks at me with this stupid blank look on her face. “You didn’t get to that, did you?”

“No, she just died.”

I’m completely exasperated. “You just stopped in the middle of that?”

“I’m sleepy.”

“Now it’s going to be all anti-climactic. You can’t stop there. You ruined the moment!”

She turns over and pulls the covers up around her neck. “So, I’ll back up a few pages tomorrow.”

I huff like a petulant child. “It won’t be the same!”

“I’m closing my eyes.”

The next night, she finishes the first book and moves on to the second. Again I wait for it. I know it’s coming because she’s making a frowny face and again I’ve estimated when she will approach one of the saddest parts of the story. After 5 minutes or so, her face relaxes and the frown disappears.

“What just happened? “

“Katniss just made her little speech and they just shot the old man.”

“Seriously?”

“Uh… yeah.”

“The old man did the whistle thing and everyone in the crowd did the whole kiss the three finger salute and everything?”

“Yep.”

“Have you no soul?”

“What?”

“HOW ARE YOU NOT CRYING?!”

“It was sad and little disturbing, but I don’t know, it just wasn’t ‘crying’ sad.”

“You have a cold, black heart you know that?”

She laughs at me and turns over. “I’m closing my eyes…”

“Fine.”

The next evening, I’m lying in bed reading alone and Dewie shuffles into the bedroom, wiping her eyes.

“I just got to the part where they whipped Gale. It was so sad.”

For a second I’m perplexed. “Really? You thought that was sad enough to cry?”

She looks up and shows me her pronounced frown and trembling bottom lip. It’s the most exaggerated sad face I’ve ever seen. A sob rips through her chest and she pounds the bed with her fist. “WHY? WHY? WHY??”

I just look at her. “Really? You pulled out the Kerrigan ‘why?’” She starts to giggle. “I’m going to bed.” I tell her, “ You and your soulless, cold, black heart are welcome to join me.

“I can’t stop here, it would be anti-climactic. I don’t want to ruin the moment.”

“I’m closing my eyes…”

Dreaming of Donkeys

“I wonder why tooth paste foams. Does it have soap in it, and if it does, is that really something I want in my mouth? Oh, probably peroxide. It foams when it comes in contact with catalase which is in saliva. Does all toothpaste have peroxide in it? I should pay attention to that…” My thoughts were cut short by the sound of my name echoing through the house, the annoyance in her voice making it shrill. Dewie should really settle down, you know with the high blood pressure and all. I spit the toothpaste foam into the sink.

“What? I’m brushing my teeth!”

“Well hurry up, your damn donkey’s at the window and he’s gumming up the glass again.” This makes me smile. I’ve always wanted a donkey, and now I finally have one. Just the thought of his scruffy little face makes me grin.

“Tell him I’ll be down in a sec.” I rinse my mouth and swish the toothpaste out of the sink. I turn the water off and listen. “DEWIE! I don’t hear you telling him!”

“I’m not talking to a donkey.” Ridiculous. I mean he speaks English.

“Fine. Let him slobber up the window.”

I slip into some flip flops and head downstairs. As I enter the kitchen sure enough, there was Lester nipping at the window.  I spin around to face Dewie. “He just wants his sandwich.”

“I got the bread out for you.” Following her finger to the loaf on the counter, my mouth curls downward in a frown.  Dewie’s eyebrows rise above her glasses. “What?”

“He likes the wheat bread.”

Dewie looks at me like I just crapped in her shoe. “Seriously?”

“Well, he does.”  I switch out the loaves and smear a thick layer of peanut butter on the wheat bread, then top it with another slice, mushing it flat with my palm. Opening the window, I reach out and scratch Lester’s course chin. “You want your sammich, little fella? What do you say?”

Lester stomps his foot, huffs and lets out a frolicking, “Heeee-Haw!”

“That’s a good boy. And who’s your favorite human?” Lester jerks his head to the side and nudges my hand. He pushes his velvet nose into my palm. “That’s right. I am. And who’s the evil human who can’t be bothered to make you a peanut butter sammich?”  Lester narrows his eyes and pulls his lips back showing his perfect square, flat teeth. He takes a deep breath and looks right at Dewie and says, “That bitch. ”

It’s my fantasy, I can make him talk if I want to. 

There's No "I" in Polygamy

I recently watched the first season of Sister Wives on Netflix. I don’t necessarily have an issue with the idea of polygamy as a general idea. I’ve seen numerous documentaries featuring group family structures that seem to work for everyone involved, and you know, whatever floats your boat. However, the religious based brand of crazy that these people are selling is fraught with underlying issues that everyone seems to be blissfully ignoring. The biggest problem I see with Cody and his four lovely wives is that there is only one practicing polygamist in the group. The wives are very much monogamous. This creates an imbalance of power that leaves me unsettled at best.  

Let’s start with Cody. At first he seems like a decent guy, but it quickly becomes clear that he uses this bazaar lifestyle and creation of an unnatural number of children to stroke is fragile male ego. Fluffing his age inappropriate, scraggly surfer boy hair, complete with receding hairline, he clearly thinks that he is hilariously charming but is so full of himself that he doesn’t even notice that he's the only one laughing at his jokes.  When asked by his first wife how he would feel if she was showing attention to another man, he replies, “The vulgarity of you taking on another lover is an idea that I’m not even comfortable thinking about. It makes me sick. I realize that may seem somewhat hypocritical, but you chose this lifestyle.” No, Cody, it doesn’t sound SOMEWHAT hypocritical, it is completely hypocritical, but I think he inadvertently hit the nail right on the head. No one in that family wants to address the huge white elephant that everyone is so persistently sidestepping. No one is happy. Except Cody.  It becomes clear that the only real emotional satisfaction the women experience comes from their relationship with each other rather than their relationship with Cody. These women have accepted their role in this shenanigan and are making the best of it. Although they sing the praises of their lifestyle and insist that they are happy, they make it painfully clear that there is a difference between being comfortable and being happy.

Having 13 children, Cody has basically worn out his wives, except for the first wife who only had the one child, but her perpetually red, bloated skin leads me to I suspect that she’s a raging alcoholic. Having sufficiently fattened up his other wives and driven the first one to drink, he takes on a fourth younger, marginally more attractive wife. This causes upheaval in family, showcasing what everyone but the participants already know, that Cody is really the only one that’s ok with this arrangement.  Cody dismisses the issues like he does all the others by saying that, “Change is scary. Everything will settle down. I haven’t courted in 16 years, this is new for everyone.” Well that’s clear that it’s new to you by your continuous use of the word “courting.” Froggy goes a courtin. People date.  The sister wives use little unimportant events such as Cody picking out the new wife’s wedding dress to showcase their displeasure. So you feel betrayed by him because he picked out a dress? Let’s dig a little deeper, ladies.

One of the most disturbing scenes for me was watching the gaggle of little girls playing with Barbies. You guessed it. Four Barbies, one Ken. Then one complains that she doesn’t get enough time to play with Ken and the new wife pipes up, “Just like Daddy has to split his time with your four mommies, you have to share Ken’s time too.” Christ lady, please don’t set these little girls’ moral equilibrium on “freak show.” Get them another freaking Ken doll. I might have felt better about the whole thing if just one little girl took her Barbie across the room and played with it alone, but she was perfectly willing to sacrifice her dignity and share a Ken.