Beware of the Monkey

“What year were you born?”

I ask this question of every one of my dates.

She looks over her glass with disapproving eyes. Reminds me of my cat. Always glaring at me.

“That’s really rude to ask a lady, you know?” she says.

Oh, get over yourself! I don’t say this out loud but I think it very loudly instead. “I’m just trying to figure out if we’re compatable. Chinese Zodiac.”

“Oh, you’re into astrology?” she asks, a little interested now.

“Not really astrology. I’m a tiger, you see.”

“What does that mean?” she says, sipping at her Cosmo. She’s actually interested in this so I oblige her.

“I’m courageous, sensitive, and very open about things.”

“Interesting. I don’t know what I am.” She twirls the straw around in circles.

“Well, what year are you? You’re 22, right?”

She laughs. Ha ha ha. I smirk at her.

“Well…” she says after a loud slurp of her drink. “If you promise not to tell…” She leans in and whispers, “1981.”

“Good. You’re a cock.”

“What?”

“I mean a rooster.”

“That doesn’t sound very flattering.”

“It’s good. You’re not a monkey.”

“Why are monkeys so bad?”

“Well, I saw a placemat once with the Chinese Zodiac symbols. It said, ‘beware of the monkey.’ After that, everything in my life kind of made sense. My mother was a monkey. I never saw much of her. One of my exes was a monkey. She put all my stuff into a big kerosene bonfire and burned it. I even had my wallet stolen by a monkey when I was in India.”

“Wow. You were in India?”

“Not the point. Monkeys are my sworn enemy. I realize this now.”

“Wow. I only know that I’m an Aquarius. Mind buying me another drink?” She puts her hand over to paw at my hand. Her lips look kind of like a cat, or… something else.

“Wait… what month were you born?” I ask.

“January.”

That’s what she reminded me of. A damn dirty ape. With that, I stand up, pull out my wallet and put money on the table for the bill. If I hang out any longer, another monkey will take everything I have.

“It would have been better if you were a cock,” I sigh, pushing in my chair before I leave.

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Filed under Flash Fiction, Session XX

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