Some days start out like any ol’ ordinary day, with ordinary happenings, and ordinary wash-rinse-repeat occurrences of events.
And then some days turn into days of unexpected, sheer unbridled joy.
When I stopped over in Roaton, Honduras*, little did I know how I was going to make some monkey’s day.
*yes, another mini-retirement trip, go ahead and hate me. I would, too, if it weren’t me having the fun.
When we were waiting to meet up with my friendie who moved to Roatan two years ago, I laid out ten large to get a couple-ah braids on my head because it was hot and my head was getting sweaty and it was only nine in the a.m. My friendie said the temperature averages 84 degrees every day, but Oh-My-Garth, is that one hella hot 84 degrees down there. So I got the braids and was a much happier hottie.
And that was before I even knew how much joy those two braids were going to bring.
We stopped at a monkey and sloth* sanctuary on the island, specifically for the opportunity for a sloth hug, and the monkey’s were part of the package.
*a story about slothing my or may not be coming soon. I’m undependable here.
We had our sloth experience – which was Ah. Mazing. – and I wanted to trade in my monkey experience for an extra slothing, but boy howdy I’m glad I wasn’t able, or these monkeys sure would have missed out on a lot. I would have hated to unknowingly denied some monkey business.
The rule with the monkeys was you just had to go stand in the enclosure and let them come to you. Unlike a sloth, you can’t force their love and hugs.
We were advised before entering the enclosure that they are a buncha little thieving monkeys and we had to get rid of anything removable or in pockets.
Sure enough, as soon as we stepped in the enclosure, one tried to take out a girl’s earrings and the other opened our friend’s pockets and had his little monkey hand extended all the way in there, searching for a treasure.
These ten dollar braids? Were all these little fella’s needed to be happy about their day.
Notice how my head is being KISSED? Because he loved my scalp.
And then he got to some serious work.
He looked me over high and low.
No hair was left unturned…
He was so tired from working so hard, he decided to take a seat…
And that’s how I ended up with a monkey’s b-hole directly on my skin.
I can’t fault him. It apparently is tireless work, looking me over from tip to top.
After a few more comprehensive searches…..
His job was complete, and he decided I should see no evil….
And that’s how I fell in love with a capuchin monkey-stylist-groomer and now want to build a giant enclosure at Chez Bang Bang and pad it with monkeys and sloths that I’ve rescued from their yucky lives looking at Caribbean waters. Because of course they’d love to live here with me and get all the hugs, all the time. 
**did you really think I’d title this “Monkey Business,” Reader?? Because while I would have enjoyed that, it seemed too predictable so now I’m making you work for it a little instead.