August 28, 2012
The ice cream monkey has climbed onto my back. He scratches and picks nits, but I do not dare knock it off. As with the monkey’s siblings, I didn’t mind him at first. After all, I could use a few nits removed from and the playful scratching felt like a loving caress. But now I think the damned monkey is only imagining the nits resulting in strands of hair being needlessly ripped from my already thinning scalp. And the scratch, scratch scratching has left open sores. Yet the actual consumption of the ice cream fulfills a desire and immediately gratifies.