Monkey on my back...literally

I love my boyfriend very much. He is a big part of why I moved to CA, my constant partner in crime and someone I know I will always want around. I love him so much that I put up with his odd decorating sense. A garden gnome, painted by his daughter, hangs out on our kitchen counter every day. A trio of monkeys balancing a giant bowl on their heads sits on the coffee table, waiting for keys, hair ties, and other odds and ends to be tossed in. Two (yes TWO) fruit mosaics are standing in the closet, waiting for a permanent position of prominence in the apartment, which I know they will eventually receive. And then there's the monkey flashlight.

The flashlight was given to R by an old (ex) friend and was really more for the kids. It's Curious George. He holds the wide brim of his big yellow hat, and at the flip of a lever the hat opens and a light shines out, usually accompanied by squeals of glee from anyone who is seeing it for the first time. This is the flashlight used in our apartment, and my big heavy Maglite stays in the linen closet. George has been used to retrieve cat toys, locate spiders who have been sentenced to die, and look for obscure tiny objects that have fallen and need to be resurrected from the carpet. He is a very useful monkey.

Unfortunately, George has fallen out of favor with me today. I was standing in front of the fridge, looking for lunch, when George took on a life of his own. He somehow fidgeted his way to the edge of the fridge top where he perched, and when I least suspected it he launched himself downward, hitting me on the neck before continuing south to annoy neighbors below with the deafening sounds of plastic on kitchen tile. I actually yelped, not unlike a monkey.

I picked George up, slammed him onto the counter, and immediately emailed R explaining that the monkey would need a new, lower, more stable home.

Maybe the closet.