My twin howler monkeys, while only a mere two and a half years old, are extremely polite.  They say “thank you”, “you’re welcome”, “bless you”, and “please”.  The please is a hit or miss thing, sometimes we have to do the centuries old: “What’s the magic word?” to get one, and they usually comply. There is no prompting, though, when they see a pizza box, instead there is an immediate gathering of the monkeys screaming: “PEETZY PEAS! MAMA PEAS PEETZY!” although I’m sure they are really thinking: “Dear God, for all that is holy, mother figure, please shove some of that greasy meat bread down my throat before I die!”

While they like to push, wrestle, punch, beat, smack, hit, perform figure four leglocks and Triple Lindys on each other, and then laugh and mock the other’s pain, lately when one gets a genuine boo-boo they seem to feel bad.  Twin A the Burly fell off his Harley Trike in the kitchen the other day (while wearing a diaper, cowboy boots, dog tags, and a Fuzzy Elmo Easter basket for a hat) and landed hard. Twin B the Fragile ran over to him and tried to help him up and asked: “You ok? Hug!” and hugged him. While Mr. Who and I were beaming proudly at each other from the sweetness of it all, B then pushed A back down on the floor and stole his bike.

I don’t care who you are, that’s funny.

My favorite polite thing is from Twin A. When we sneeze, he immediately yells: “You have booga nose?” and runs to get a wet wipe.  He proudly hands it to you, and you better blow your nose with it.  Blowing my nose with a wet wipe gives me the willies. If you think I’m a weirdo, try it yourself, you’ll see.  When we sneeze we have to immediately say: “No booga nose, A!” before he has a chance to run to get the wipes, but he might have some sort of ESP (Extra Sneezory Perception) because he almost always beats us to the punch.

I have strange dreams, and things like this and what I watch on TV often merge and carry over into my sleeping world.  Mac from “It’s Always Sunny in Philadelphia” was in my “Tom Cruise invited me and a bunch of friends to an island” dream, and he had a “booga nose” and was trying to hide it under 15 Transformers and SpongeBob band aids while I was awkwardly shaking Tom’s hand for 20 minutes unable to let go and speak any sort of coherent English to him.  Mr. Who was really interested in why I was laughing my butt off at 3 a.m. and calling someone an “idiot assbutt” in my sleep.

I’m worried he might donate my brain to science…before I die.

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