How can you not like tiny bears?
I was having a very high-minded conversation with a well respected member of the local intelligentsia when at the worst possible time, my brain crapped out on me.
“I can’t stand the minutiae,” the amply IQ’ed woman said, expecting a witty retort.
But it was no good. I couldn’t respond. My brain was gone. It went on a little trip to Shop Rite for wax paper and left me alone in the middle of this meaningful rapport. I started to drool. Not much, but it was enough.
Minutiae. Minutiae? All I could picture was a team of tiny bears in purple jumpsuits, stacking little crates of sunshine in a happy green meadow. Yes, Minutiae! They were singing a song. It was about their friends, the jellyfish. One day in May they will visit them for a picnic on the Raspberry Shoreline. They’ll eat pies and frolic in the foamy sea. For now, they will stack sunshine boxes until they reach the sky so little Tommy NumNum can wake up before he is late for school. Oh yes, Minutiae!
“How can you not like the little bears?!” I yelled. “They’re genious! They’re going to wake up Tommy NumNum and then go to the beach for a jellyfish picnic! What’s wrong with Minutiae?!”
Just then my brain got back, juggling some grocery bags.
“Sorry I’m late,” he apoligized. “I needed to get a few things besides wax paper. Got so much I even forgot the wax paper altogether! Ha! OK, so where were we? Minutiae?”
But it was too late. She was gone and my chance to join the intellectual elite went with her. I was alone in a green meadow. I sat on a bright orange box and wept. Suddenly, I heard tiny, but rough voice.
“Move it, buddy!” shouted a little bear in a purple jumpsuit. “If I don’t get this last freaking box of sunshine stacked, Tommy’s gonna have my fuzzy nuts for breakfast.”
Still, I don’t mind the Minutiae.
