Our Father's Mustache

“Good afternoon,

it’s time for tea.

Would you like a biscuit?”

The wombat

asked me.

The world is laughing.

“Why are they laughing?”

I asked, on that autumn afternoon.

“Why wouldn’t they be laughing?” a man asked me.

“It’s time for tea!”

The wombat

said impatiently, “May I have a biscuit?”

“I do enjoy a good biscuit.

That and laughing.”

And the wombat

agreed with me that afternoon

during tea.

We drank together,

the wombat and me.

Myself, I, and me–

together ate a biscuit

and drank steaming green tea.

We spent time laughing

that afternoon.

We laughed together, the wombat

and me. So chuckled the wombat

and so giggled me

(on that silly afternoon),

that we crumbled a biscuit

(so much laughing)

and spilt our steaming green tea.

“Green tea,”

said the wombat,

“is good for drinking, but while laughing…”

He raised an eyebrow and looked at me,

as he nibbled a biscuit

in the dying afternoon.

Afternoon

tea and a biscuit

appeases me.

Due to  a lack of legitimate mustache calendars on the market, we decided to create our own. Of course, we ended up with more than 12 months of material, but how can you pick just 12? That’s right. You cannot.

And in case you wondered about the honey badger reference…that’s because honey badger was our photographer.

(Scene: a regular Friday morning; our two favorite career girls begin their usual Friday morning routines. K is in a weekly 4 hour long meeting, L is wading through her que. And  the best part of their respective Friday routines? The first email of the day.)

L: Happy first day of Autumn! I’m stoked about the Bonfire Bonanza!

K: Me too! It’s going to be a blast. YAY FALL!!!!!

L: Ok, I realize what I’m about to say may make me officially the creepiest person ever.  I’ve been in Taylor la-la land since the concert- it’s bad. I was thinking about the night that I went to their New Year’s Eve party and how stupid I was for being so goo-goo ga-ga over B. and not even trying to hang out with /dance with/seduce any of the Hansons. Then I remembered Taylor’s girlfriend (now wife) was there anyway, so that plan couldn’t have worked out. THEN (now this is where it gets creepy), I started wondering if he and N. were pregnant yet at that point, since they got married like 4 or 5 months later and she was knocked up when they got married.  I remembered E. was born on Halloween, so I pulled up a conception calculator and it estimates that they conceived on January 5^th!  Those calculators are only so accurate, so now I’m freaking out that Taylor and N. got pregnant the night I first met him, and if I had somehow intervened I could have prevented the whole thing!  Ok that last part is a joke (mostly) but it IS super weird to me that they very well could have conceived that night. I think too much. Ok, I’m feeling embarrassed that my mind works this way so I’ll just leave it at that : – P

K: No, no, no; you’re not being creepy, you’re being a scientist! What some people would call info-stalking, we can call data gathering! Here are the facts:

1. Hanson interests you.
2. You had a hypothesis about the time space continuum and the mating rituals of beautiful people.
3. You gathered the data and came up with a plausible situation.
4. You also pondered time travel, which is Einsteinian in nature.

So there you have it! You’re not a creeper, you’re a genius of science. In conclusion: I just proved you’re completely normal. Or that we’re both insane. Either way….B. screwed your chances. OR…….you were an awesome girlfriend for ignoring Taylor.

L: I feel a whole lot less creepy now!

K: It’s because science isn’t creepy, it’s just really involved.

L: This is why we are best friends.

K: Because we’re both completely off our rockers?

L: Yes, but I think it makes us interesting.

(Scene: Our girl K sits in the parking lot after work, pondering how a usually awesome day of the week ended so badly. She can’t quite put her finger on it, and decides to head downtown until she figures things out. She ends up at a local art and coffee shop, where the day starts to turn around. Maybe it was the excited hello she received from the barista, or the gigantic wave the shop owner proffered as a greeting but things started to seem like they would be okay. A conversation ensues after K confesses that it had been a heck of a day.)

MB: Why was your day so bad?

K: I don’t know exactly what it was…when I woke up, I just felt like the day was shot from the get go. I just wanted to get through work and come unwind here at the shop. It just makes me happy being in here.

MB: What do you do for work?

K: I’m a…secretary. I think that’s fueling the bummed out feeling. I want so badly to be a writer and had an adviser at school tell me that I’d never be anything more than a secretary. Every day at work I’m reminded that I’m still not a writer or working at a publishing company.

M: You are a writer.

MB: It’s the people like that who drive us. The people who say that you’ll never be a writer or own your own shop…and we have to prove them wrong. When you said that you came in here because it makes you happy, that makes me happy. That’s why I opened this shop. (Tears of joy begin, MB walks away to compose herself.)

K: Ok, off topic, but online you guys show a book of robots and donuts….

MB: IT’S RIGHT HERE! AND IT’S SIGNED!

K: I’m so excited!!!!

MB: I asked the artist why robots and donuts and he said that someone told him once to paint what he loves, and he loves robots and donuts. It’s about doing what you love. It’s why we want to write or create. We do it because we love it.

K: I think my day was just salvaged.

(K walks out of the shop with her head a little higher and her shoulders a little straighter. She knows that one day she’ll get to that place, and when she does, it will be worth all the heartache and confusion. She knows it doesn’t matter what people think, or the stupid things they say. All that matters is robots and donuts and love.)

I had to delete the original post because I have delusions of grandeur and I don’t want the person I wrote it about to ever see it and think that I’m horrible. That would ruin my chance at fame and writing for her show.