Dance, monkey, dance!

Something that I find amusing about myself is that it really bugs me when other people get worked up about silly things, like someone complaining about the animals at the zoo being off exhibit. “That’s right,” I think, “there aren’t any other animals to see. Also, the animals at the zoo exist only for our amusement. Dance, monkey, dance!” I lay the sarcasm on thick, because I have a zoo membership, and it doesn’t matter to me whether the animals are on exhibit or not, because I can always come back later! (Also, I have this weird dislike of animals being used for human amusement, which is why I hate the circus so much. Maybe it is also why I hate any movie or commercial with talking animals.) (I swear I don’t just hate animals. Look, Big Bunny is snuggled up to me right now. We are totally adorable together.)

But, really, all this zoo-hater is doing is getting disproportionately worked up about something rather insignificant. And it’s amusing that it bugs me because I do that exact same thing all the time. I just don’t happen to commiserate on the zoo issue, so it’s hard for me to see myself in that person’s shoes, when, really, the shoes ARE EXACTLY THE SAME SIZE. (Speaking of shoes, I bought a pair of black ballet flats at Target on Saturday. For three dollars and twenty-something cents. In the children’s department. To wear. For myself. Now back to our original topic.) The things that raise my hackles have less to do with inconvenience to myself (I want my dancing monkeys and I want them now!) and more to do with inconsideration and disrespect. This includes things like silly rules. I hate silly rules, partly because I feel like they are disrespectful to me. When I go on and on about how much I hate being disrespected and treated inconsiderately (as I have maybe done once or twice in my life), it’s no different than expecting the monkeys to dance on command. Instead of taking offense, I’m going to try to remember that.

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