My husband Martin is a Brit. He lived in Baroldswick, Colne Lancs, England, until he was ten. This picture was was taken when he was three, out on a shopping excursion with his Mum and Grandma.
There was a Gypsy on the corner with a monkey who was letting kids hold him and taking pictures for a few shillings or pence or whatever or a pint of Guinness . (NOTE: I am not being racist in saying "Gypsy." It really was a Gypsy, they were all over England in those days. Could still be, for all I know.)
Martin begged to have his photo taken with the monkey. So Mum paid the few shillings or pence or whatever or the price of a pint of Guinness and Martin held the monkey.
Then all went awry.
It was England, so Mum had her umbrella with her, tucked up under her arm as any proper English lady does.
Mum was fussing, as she is apt to do, and swatted the monkey right in the eye with the sharp pointy metal part of the umbrella, turning around to talk to someone.
At which point, Mr. Monkey, dressed in his little pants and sweater, went insane. It screamed, pulled Martin's hair, ran up and down his shoulders and in general, caused quite a stir. Grandma proceeded to smack the monkey with her umbrella in an effort to protect Number One Son.
Which of course, calmed the monkey right down.
As a result, my husband has an unnatural although well-grounded fear of monkeys.
On our first Valentine's Day together, I bought him a Beanie Buddy named Bananas. A monkey. Because that's just the kind of sense of humor I have.
Oh my God, I'm getting SUCH a visual right now reading this...poor Martin. They can be downright nasty critters!!!
Posted by: Michelle | May 23, 2005 at 01:24 PM