Background
The client, C. Drew, an attorney, requested an investigation into the extraordinarily high number of violent incidents involving his teenage daughter, N. A preliminary draft of the resulting report is below. Please see the follow-up note appended.

Subject
N. is a normal, active girl, recently graduated from high school, who engages in routine activities such as shopping, attending charity events, and pursuing a hobby she calls “sleuthing,” which involves helping her many feeble-minded friends and acquaintances find lost objects of moderate sentimental value. Her innocuous lifestyle notwithstanding, N. has over the past few years been the victim of multiple kidnappings, bludgeonings, menacing telegrams and phone calls, incidents of automotive sabotage, and mail theft. N. is also regularly chloroformed, tailed, and impersonated, and has been left bound and gagged in confined spaces no fewer than sixteen times.

I. Local Threat Environment
N. and her father live in an upper-middle-class neighborhood that appears to be little troubled by crime, apart from an inexplicable vortex of burglary and rock-throwing centered upon the Drew home.

The Drew’s community of River Heights is in many ways a typical Midwestern town, yet it presents serious challenges to risk mitigation due to the unprecedented number of carnivals, cults, traveling circuses, organized crime syndicates, and counterfeiting rings in its vicinity. River Heights is a busy shipping port, and thus well-situated for quick access by transient criminals via railroad, airport, highway, or boat.

The natural environment surrounding River Heights also abounds in risk. It features unreliable country roads winding through sparsely-populated farmland, treacherous lakes, the Muskoka River (notorious for its unpredictable currents), and vast stretches of desolate forest. Some freak of topography renders the entire region prone to sudden outbursts of severe weather.

Dotted across this perilous landscape are myriad secluded inns, tea rooms, mansions, and castles which contain hidden staircases, secret passages, haunted spirits, buried treasure, and/or smuggled goods. These structures figure prominently in N.’s daily movement. They also explode and burn down with alarming frequency. (Note: Infrastructure analysis suggests that the gas pipelines in River Heights predate World War One, which could explain the region’s unusual flammability.)

II. Surrounding Population
Although most inhabitants of River Heights are white and well-off, the town also harbors a great many distressed farmers, political refugees, and incognito royalty. According to interviews with inhabitants (transcripts on file), there appears to have been a rash of children separated from their parents some ten or twenty years ago, though public records contain no mention of any natural disaster that would explain this phenomenon.

The criminal element in River Heights is substantial. However, said criminals are, almost without exception, conspicuous, inept, and mentally deficient to the point of cretinism. The possibility of frequent gas leaks in River Heights, mentioned above, may partially explain this phenomenon. It should also be noted that the town has a very high concentration of lead in its drinking water. And, given the number of lost relatives constantly re-discovering one another in the area (see lost children, above), there is also the distinct possibility that residents of River Heights have unwittingly been inbreeding for generations. Whatever the cause, these characteristics tend to mitigate the threat presented by criminals in the area.

III. Family Associations and Professional Connections
C. is known to have acquired numerous enemies in the course of his career as an attorney, and his professional connections were considered a promising area for investigation. However, preliminary research in this area was halted at the request of the Federal Bureau of Investigation. See below.

APPENDED: SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS
CONFIDENTIAL

The following CONFIDENTIAL communication was provided by the FBI:

Be advised there is an ACTIVE, ONGOING federal investigation into the activities surrounding C. and N. Drew of River Heights. UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES should private security personnel interfere with this investigation, which has uncovered what appears to be a sophisticated “honeypot” operation directed at local, state, and federal law enforcement.

Through extensive undercover work, agents have determined that N. Drew was, at some point after high school, compromised and brainwashed by operatives associated with one Stefano “Stumpy” Dowd. Dowd, a former investment banker currently serving time for securities fraud in a federal penitentiary, was convicted in large part upon testimony supplied by C. Drew. In a “Manchurian Candidate” scenario, N. is being used by Dowd and his associates both to punish her father, and to create frequent emergencies that divert law enforcement resources from larger crimes in the region.

Dowd masterminds this ingenious scheme, operating by proxy from his prison cell, assisted by Nelson “Ned” Nickerson. Nickerson, the prime suspect in the initial brainwashing of N., now provides her with coded instructions via party invitations, calling cards, and thank-you notes, which arrive at the Drew home by mail or messenger.

Dowd, Nickerson, and their associates take advantage of N.’s wealth and social connections to move her around River Heights freely, from one hazardous location to the next, under the pretext of “solving mysteries,” and use accomplices to fabricate elaborate crimes involving N. When law enforcement comes to N.’s assistance, Dowd’s gang strikes in another area. For example, while police were engaged in rescuing N. from a cistern where an “evil doctor” had trapped her (at an estate on Larkspur Lane where rich elderly people were allegedly imprisoned), Dowd’s accomplices transported sixteen thousand kilos of cocaine across the state border ninety miles away.

Dowd’s gang is also involved in international crime, and has used N. to distract law enforcement in locations around the world (including Scotland, Hawaii, New Orleans, Pennsylvania, Arizona, New York, Florida, Boston, Canada, the Netherlands, Africa, Turkey, South America, and someplace described in C.’s tax returns as “Treasure Island”).

All personnel are ordered to immediately WITHDRAW from the Drew investigation until the FBI has secured sufficient evidence to arrest Nickerson. It is also critical that special agent Fayne’s cover NOT BE COMPROMISED before we are able to deprogram N. under controlled conditions. Anyone who knowingly or unknowingly divulges Fayne’s true identity and gender will be guilty of endangering a federal officer, and prosecuted accordingly.

Thank you for your cooperation.

***

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In a blog post on the subject, she discusses VIDA statistics, Deborah Copaken Kogan’s Nation essay, and (drumroll!) Elissa Bassist’s amazing Funny Women essay “Writing the Next Great American Woman’s Novel.”

Jones calls Bassist’s humor “indelible” and ties it into the “frustratingly sad” larger picture. Thanks, Hettie, we love you back!

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They’ve republished Elissa Bassist’s satire, “Writing the Next Great American Woman’s Novel.” But you saw it here first.

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“It appears that gradually, over time, editors have begun the process of moving women, one by one, alphabetically, from the ‘American Novelists’ category to the ‘American Women Novelists’ subcategory.” –Amanda Filipacchi, “Wikipedia’s Sexism Toward Female Novelists,” The New York Times, April 24, 2013

“Around 90 percent of Wikipedia editors are men, and it shows.” –New Scientist

A lot of women people (as opposed to men people, or just “people”) are upset that Wikipedia editors have created a subcategory for “American Women Novelists.” But I’m not. I’m stoked! This could be the best thing that’s ever happened to women novelists like me.

First of all, I can stop competing with Jonathan Franzen. Franzen has been a real pain in my lady parts, and now that we’re not in the same category, I can stop feeling so awful about my writing. While I knew in my heart’s core we would never be in the same league, now we’re literally never going to be in the same league. Such a relief! I mean, for real.

B.) There’s also less competition within my segregated field. Because fewer books by women are published, I have a higher probability of success. (That’s how math works, correct?) Like my woman parent always says, “It’s easier to win when everyone else is losing. Now let’s go clean the toilet!”

Apparently the list of “American Novelists” is too long, so I see why subcategories are necessary. It’s like when my inbox is too full and I have to archive certain emails and forget about them forever. (I have email folders for “Etsy Sales,” “Sephora Sales,” “The Atlasphere: Ayn Rand News, Dating & Social Networking Newsletters,” and so on.) Organization and labeling are supreme virtues, above most other less supreme virtues like equality and fairness. I’d like to see Wikipedia continue this helpful sub-categorization. “American Women Comedians” is an obvious one.

I was immersing myself in women’s literature the other day—by that I mean I was reading a cookbook—and that’s when I knew what I should do. I will write the next Great American Woman’s Novel. It’ll be part romance fiction/journal/doodles/musings/sestina about kittens and friendship/an illuminating treatise about the way we live now/word cloud, and it will cover the typical subject matters women write about: marriage, motherhood, yogurt, dating as a competitive sport, emotional warfare, housework, tampons, rainbows, midwifery, gardening, hysteria, beauty products, weight gain, weight loss, the art of being shrill, divorce, magic, and light bondage.

One chapter will be an audio file of Taylor Swift songs.
One chapter will be just emojis.
One chapter will be my grocery list.
One chapter will be a link to my Pinterest page.
One chapter will be manufactured with drops of my blood, sweat, and tears.
One chapter will be me making a sandwich for all the “American Novelists.”

If I have any deep, universal, logical thoughts or opinions, I’ll write them down on Post-Its and then chew them up and swallow them to maintain the illusion women don’t write about those things.

Of course I’ll write TNGAWN with BIC for Her pens, designed to fit a woman’s hand. The XY pens I’d been using were heavy and obstructed my flow of words, but BIC for Her’s comfortable and innovative design makes writing a pure pleasure. The pink one is for writing thoughts I’m thinking and the purple one is for feelings I’m feeling. I’ve outsourced the typing to a man helper to whom I pay 30 percent more for the work than I would ask to be paid were I employed as an outsourced typist.

I’ll publish the novel via my self-publishing operation Books by Her, and some smart men in design and marketing will slap on a cover that my cervix can really identify with—like a canary yellow cover depicting high-heeled shoes atop a glistening martini glass made with bits of the glass ceiling we just totally cracked by letting it crash to the floor.

It’s true that books by women aren’t reviewed as often in thought-leader newspapers and magazines, and it’s a vicious cycle—women are systematically underrepresented in reviews, so they have fewer “credible source” citations on Wikipedia, so fewer wombyn are “notable,” so people who browse Wikipedia based on notability won’t readily see them—that I’d rather stay out of. And anyway, more women than men buy books; ergo, my novel will be a bestseller even if no one hears about it.

I could fight subcategorization—encourage writers of femininity to start editing Wikipedia, to create new entries and flood the system with new perspectives, maybe alter the way information is organized, possibly influence how a story gets told, just do tiny, fixable things that make it easier for women to gain equality—but that’d take me away from writing the next Great American Woman’s Novel—tentatively titled All the Single Ladies Just Wanna Have Fun!—so, you know, pass.

I guess what I’m saying is, maybe this is a high point. American Women Novelists are special. Chosen. In a category all our own.

Man, we’ve come a long way, baby.

***
[N.B. In “Yes, Wikipedia Is Sexist -- That's Why It Needs You,” Deanna Zandt offers resources available for beginners to get started editing Wikipedia:

• Wikipedia has a welcome library of resources that includes handbooks and videos on principles of editing and how to use the editing tools.
• WikiWomen is a collective of people interested in supporting women’s activities in the community. It’s both a rallying cause and resource for women’s participation, as well as a supportive environment in which to learn.
• The Teahouse is a community gathering spot on Wikipedia for newcomers (of all genders) to ask questions and get help with problems they might be having.
• Of course, [Deanna’s] own work: I teach introductory webinars and workshops on Wikipedia principles, tools and resources, and have tailored those workshops to primarily women-centered groups.]

***

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It went well at first. We told unfunny stories that came to no real point. Every third get-together, we neglected to bring beer. We put bumper stickers on our cars: “World’s Best Uncle,” “Elect Doritos,” “This Is a Car.” On public transit or in line at municipal buildings, we didn’t bring anything to occupy ourselves — no headphones or books or Sudoku — opting instead to stare vaguely at the neck of the person in front of us.

When one of our kind objected to a particular modern vice, we shouted him down and called him a poltroon. Our ranks held, and we got more creative.

Here were some of our stances:

“Artisanal foods are bull.”

“9/11 was an inside job.”

“Sadness is a choice.”

We professed absolute indifference to the success of regionally popular sports teams. We forwarded email chain letters. We drank too many alcoholic beverages and had earnest online chats with old flames late at night.

In our cars, we listened only to the worst kinds of music: pre-Beatles pop and current Top 40. This we did at the highest volume, until no one wanted to ride with us. One of us — it was Steve — suggested we “put on Simon and Garfunkel or something.” He said, “I can’t remember why we’re doing this.” We called Steve a poltroon and made him get out of the car.

Around then, we hit our stride. We did long, vociferous monologues about politics and lost our train of thought. We said, “Hear me out: sharks and alligators should go extinct.” We acted abominably at our siblings’ graduation dinners without even meaning to. When someone asked us about our jobs we said “meh.” We said “meh” a lot, actually.

One week, we made online dating profiles that were deliberately opaque and misleading. Under interests, we listed “fields of wheat” and “faxing.” One of us, in an inspired move, even made her profile picture an illustration of a blue cube.

That was when Carol jumped ship. On her profile, she posted a picture of herself in a tank top doing a pouty face. “I don’t know,” she said. “I genuinely want to find someone.” We said, “But that tank top! But that pouty face!” We called Carol a poltroon and sent her packing.

We talked to our clergymen and our Gods about our vices. Our clergymen said, “These aren’t sins, these are just bad manners.” They said, “I’m not even sure I…a blue cube?” We had to beg them for their disapproval. Meanwhile, our Gods said nothing.

We redoubled our efforts. We disparaged our fathers and our educational institutions. We continued to text all through the previews. At our monthly summit, we reversed our position, and insisted on eating only artisanal foods from there on out, and then we embarked on an aggressive supermarket grumbling campaign.

More of us began to falter. We started to catch each other engaging in modern virtue. We discovered Daniel had donated money to NPR. “Why, Daniel?” we asked. “I wanted the free tote bag — ” he said. We cried, “No! Don’t say it.” Daniel hung his head, “ — to bring back produce from the farmers’ market.” Last we heard, Daniel got a job.

Eventually, we got lazy and lapsed. We slipped up and sent out a few thank you notes. Some of our parents got sick, and we moved home to help out. A woman dropped her wallet in the street, and one of us chased her down to give it back. “Thank you,” she said. “You’re a good person.” “No,” our guy insisted, deeply rattled. “Yes,” she said. “You are.”

After that, we disbanded; we were spooked. Our heads were no longer in the game. We were going through the motions. We said to each other, “You can’t run from your true nature.” We scraped the bumper stickers off our cars as best we could. We remembered to bring beer to parties. We stopped worrying so much about modern vice. We didn’t think about it at all, in fact. Except at night, lying in bed alone, after a healthy, balanced dinner and a moderate amount of wine with people who, try as we might, we genuinely cared about.

Only then, in the dark, staring up at the ceiling, gripped with bowel-quivering self-doubt, did we confront what we knew to be the facts: that we were cowards, that we were weak, that we would never, deep down, be truly bad.

***

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• FUNNY WOMEN #100: Writing the Next Great American Woman’s Novel
• Thanks, Bitch!

Thanks, Bitch! You’re on our radar, too!

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• FUNNY WOMEN #98: Classic Novels Rejected by Modern Publishing Houses

Thank you for considering us as a potential publisher for your manuscript, Pride and Prejudice.

Unfortunately, we do not feel that your work is a good fit for us at this time. Although the story is eloquently told, we are concerned that it will not find a large enough audience in the increasingly competitive marketplace.

Because your work shows promise, our editors recommend the following changes if you choose to resubmit to us in the future:

- The opening line is dull. In lieu of, “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife,” we suggest, “Elizabeth Bennet shifted her Gucci hobo bag to her other shoulder and eyed the handsome, brown-eyed stranger who had just rolled into town in an impressively large carriage. She wondered if it might finally be her turn to find love.”

- How about adding a scene where Elizabeth Bennet accidentally places the winning bid on Mr. Darcy during a charity bachelor auction? Or maybe one in which Mr. Darcy gets locked out of his house wearing only his boxers as Elizabeth just happens to stroll by? More sexy misunderstandings of this sort are needed to hold reader interest.

- Female characters do barely any shopping and don’t talk about shoes at all. Fix.

- We don’t mean to be indecorous, but there needs to be a lot more humping. If you think you’ve added too many sex scenes, you’re halfway there.

We wish you the best of luck in your revisions. If you have any questions at all, please hesitate before bothering us, as we’re very busy and important.

Best,

*Gold* *Star* *Press*

—

Dear Ms. Brontë,

We are returning your submitted manuscript, Wuthering Heights. While our editors feel it has potential, we would like to see you make the following revisions before we can consider it further for publication:

- The female love interest is long dead for the entire length of the novel! This must be changed. For the sake of continuity, maybe make her a beautiful, headstrong zombie? Also, rather than a bleak, drafty manor, set the novel in a quirky local coffee shop in Brooklyn.

- Readers are not going to care about this “Mr. Lockwood” narrator — get rid of him, or make him a loyal dog.

- Heathcliff — handsome, brooding, determined — we loved this character! Great stuff! But we think he will appeal to readers even more if he is a millionaire tycoon with superpowers. Also, blonde.

- We love the theme of love destroying lives, but there needs to be much, much more explicit sex. Don’t be afraid to really go there. Have the narrator dog hiding under the bed while it happens — or something similar.

- Too many moors.

We look forward to reviewing your revision with our changes incorporated. Suggested working title: Mrs. Linton and the Trouble with Moors. Best of luck 
with these edits.

Sincerely,

The Butterfield Publishing Cooperative

—

Dear Ms. Shelley,

We appreciate the opportunity to review your supernatural horror story, Frankenstein: or The Modern Prometheus. Although we think the premise is dynamite, the execution leaves much to be desired, such as:

- For one thing, our editors are unimpressed by the fact that there is only one “Monster” in the entire novel. Readers are more likely to be interested in storylines that feature massive numbers of monsters — either storming innocent civilians in their cities, or infiltrating their ranks and living quietly among them until the day they rise up in a battle that tests the will of humanity to survive.

- If you insist on keeping it to one monster, which is a mistake, we suggest setting the novel in a high school. Make the monster a quarterback on the football team with a troubled home life, and give him a serious crush on a quiet, yet unconventionally beautiful, girl in his math class — and then go from there.

- Better yet, make him a vampire who plays the electric guitar. Also, bisexual.

- Think to yourself: how can I write this so someone else will write the movie version?

- More sex.

Let us know if these changes work for you. If they do, we eagerly anticipate the opportunity to review a revised draft, the title of which we think should be: The Adventures of the Troubled Bisexual Quarterback with a Secret.

Kindest Regards,

Pressed Leaf Press

—

Dear E. L. James,

Nailed it! We plan to sell over 65 million copies worldwide and set the record for fastest-selling paperback of all time, surpassing the Harry Potter series.

Thank you!

xo,

Random House 

***

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• Props from a Fellow Funny Woman
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• Thanks, Bitch!

1.

We log onto Facebook in order to live. The local mom cracks the one surprising secret to losing belly fat. The African child-enslaver will be arrested following our signing of the online petition. The former work colleague who has won a lifetime supply of Pepsi MAX either will or will not share his haul with the first ten people to like his status.

I am talking here about a time when I began to sync all the gadgets I had ever purchased for myself, a common condition but one that I found daunting. I suppose this period began around 2007, when the first iPhone was released, and continued until the time Google Glass was released in prototype.

During those five years I appeared, on the face of it, a connected enough member of some online community or another — a writer of blogs, a poster of pilfered quotes re-shared on Pinterest without attribution, a viewer of YouTubes involving vocalizing pets or foul-mouthed teenagers riffing in their dormered bedrooms.

It was a time in my life when I was frequently “tagged,” along with other Netizens who seemed to keep in touch and do good works. I did no good works, but I tried to keep in touch. I recognized my mobile number when I saw it. I set my notices to vibrate but remembered to check them before bed, after breakfast, in the presence of my personal trainer and on the commuter rail. Once in awhile I even answered emails addressed to me, not exactly upon receipt but eventually, particularly if the emails had managed to evade my spam filter. “During my hiatus from The Cloud these past eighteen months,” such replies would begin.

2.

To pack and carry:

iPhone 4 in white
HP TouchPad running Android 4.0
Beats by Dre

This is the gear list that was saved to my Google drive during the years when I was upgrading more or less steadily. The list enabled me to function, without thinking, in any situation I was likely to find myself.

Notice the deliberate agnosticism of the tech: with the first-gen white iPhone I could solicit donors to sponsor iPads for 21st century learning at the public school; with the $99 hacked tablet I could take the kids to see Occupy without the taint of corporate coercion; the red Dre earbuds told everyone at TEDx I was onboard with their expensive optimism. It will perhaps suggest the mood of those years if I tell you that I never once attended a TED talk without simultaneously imagining the better, edited version that awaited me online.

3.

Many people I know through LinkedIn believe that Web. 2.0 ended abruptly on October 5, 2011, ended at the exact moment when word of Steve Jobs’s death traveled like a Twitterstorm over the Internet. The mirror broke that day. The IPO of the ‘00s was withdrawn.

I have known, since then, only a little about the movements of the people who seemed to me emblematic of those years. I know that Anthony Weiner traded away his political career for pix of his junk. I know of course that Alec Baldwin was thrown off an airplane for playing Words with Friends and later married his yoga instructor. I also know that Mark Zuckerberg rang the bell and sealed his fate. Going public, he said the day he opened trading remotely, wasn’t Facebook’s mission. “Our mission is to make the world more open and connected.” Quite often I reflect on my life spent primarily being open and connected, and on the fact that both Mark Zuckerberg and I own hoodies, but tweeting about it has not yet helped me to see what it means.

2007-2012

***

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• Improvising a Bone Graft

This notice is to inform you that the procedure/treatment performed on January 2, 2013 is not covered under your health plan by reason code L0L.

Receiving an Explanation of Benefits showing that a service was not covered can be confusing and frustrating. You may have figured out that your coverage contains a wide range of benefits and resources unavailable to you. You might wonder if, deep down, we care about your health or mock you in times of illness or injury. You might feel that we are dashing your 2013 New Year’s Health Resolution to smithereens. You might be wrong (which is a medical condition we do not cover).

We are here to help. To assist you in understanding how your health plan works, please refer to the following reason codes explaining why your problem cannot be covered.

PRE&PRE: This service requires preauthorization of the preauthorization.

PENPAL78: The Plan will not pay for this service until you mail forms back and forth with us seven or eight times.

MATH4U: The Participating Provider/Network Not Available benefit after copay is equal to, less than, or greater than the fee allowance/coinsurance/out-of-pocket limit/plan number/Tier 53 Preferred Prescription Drug Mail Order Service, or ab²x⁴+bx³+cx²+dx+ad²=0.

V0Cab: Because we’re not sure what the word “maxillofacial” means.

0ldF9RT: If you are Medicare-eligible, this plan pays only the portion of covered charges not paid by Medicare Parts A and B if Medicare Parts C, D, G, H, and P are not in existence, regardless if you are eligible to be enrolled in Medicare or if the above-mentioned Medicare Parts exist.

TOS5UP: If there is a conflict between what is written in the Benefit Handbook and your Health Contract, we will flip a coin. If we don’t like the outcome, we will flip again.

N1C3TRY: Procedures that involve the eyes, legs, nose, or throat are deemed to be investigational according to our criteria. What a mystery the human body can be!

N0D1CE: Even though you received services from a Participating Provider, he hasn’t been joining in of late. Also, we don’t like his new mustache.

WhatTH3: Why, oh why did you go to the doctor for this? Couldn’t you have had spouse/dependent/dependent#2 just get you an ice pack?

DuMBA55: The plan does not cover foreign objects in ears if the patient is an adult and the object is something stupid. Examples include a Cheerio, Lego, crayon, hors d’oeuvre, chess piece, or gummy bear.

5ONG: Because the song “Party in the USA” is stuck in our heads and it’s driving us crazy.

L0L: LOL

OOPSx2: Not again! Really? Didn’t you learn your lesson the first time around?

If you have questions about how we have not paid your claims, our staff is available to converse with you Monday through Tuesday, 8 a.m.-8:30 a.m., in Code, pig Latin, or emojis. If you need assistance filing an appeal, we would be happy to send you a next-step guide in randomized algorithms.

We look forward to serving you by avoiding your healthcare needs! Isthay is otnay an illingbay!

Please retain for your records.

***

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A piece of it, anyway.

But am I getting all upset and making a big deal about it? You bet I’m not! If a member of your family had a bad day, would you want to have him euthanized? “Of course not!” I imagine you saying.

A lot of people, let’s call them animal rights activists, have been spouting off indignant–and I must add–ignorant questions, like, “Don’t you think a chimpanzee wants to be with its own kind?” Well, of course I do! And guess what? My friend (who also must obviously remain anonymous here) acquired a monkey of her own. A little girl monkey named Tiffany Sue. So we did the obvious and moral thing: we held a little wedding for them. Bentley and Tiffany Sue were “officially” wed right here in my living room, in a ceremony attended by their closest friends. As you can imagine, we put a great deal of care and planning into this event.

I will admit that Bentley was a weensy impatient when he was being fitted for his little tux. But it’s not like you can just buy a monkey a tuxedo off the rack. Ultimately, it was all worth it when he saw Tiffany Sue being walked down the aisle by my friend’s husband. She looked ah-mah-zing! The fitted bodice, the low-cut back (to allow for her tail, of course)–just like a princess! Bentley got so excited when he saw her he jumped up and down! He literally jumped up and down, as monkeys are wont to do.

The happily hitched couple did appear somewhat confused when we unwrapped for them their lovely silver-plated hostess platter with their names engraved on it, but I’m sure they were just overwhelmed, what with all the cameras flashing and champagne popping and clapping. But do you know what those precious two did? They held hands! They stood right there in their little wedding clothes and held hands and looked from us to each other like they couldn’t believe it was all happening, that they were getting their happily ever after fairy tale/tail royalty wedding celebration!

Now I’ll acknowledge that I thought Bentley looked surprised when Tiffany Sue was bundled back into her hot pink parka and hustled out the door after the reception. It was not long after that when I noticed Bentley didn’t seem to be himself.

I never could have dreamed what would come next. What happened next was not in my monkey wedding dream journal at all.

That evening, when I called Bentley to come get into his jammies, he didn’t come running. I found him perched on the overstuffed cushion by the window, and it seemed to me he was staring longingly across the yard. Maybe it was my imagination. Maybe he just wasn’t feeling well; it is true that Taco Bell can sometimes disagree with him. Or perhaps the full implications of the sham wedding to Tiffany Sue were beginning to set in. Whatever it was, when his big brown eyes met mine, it wasn’t Bentley looking back. I pretended he wasn’t hurting my feelings with his ungrateful attitude. I held up his Angry Bird footed-pajamas in what I thought was an enticing gesture–and that’s when he bared his monkey teeth! Suddenly, it was on, as they say, like Donkey-Kong. Making nightmare-inducing screeching sounds, he lunged at me, and pulling my face toward his (and–I must say–making commendable use of opposable thumbs), I felt those pretty teeth of his tearing into my cheek.

At the emergency room, I confess, I may have implicated our neighbor’s pit bull in the damage done to my face, and as a result Gomer may have been picked up by the local authorities and euthanized. But really it was just a matter of time before that monster hurt somebody, anyway. Dogs, right?

Weeks later, after I got out of the hospital, I talked my husband into converting our garage into a habitat for Bentley. In he went with his bunk bed and toys. It was like giving him a big-boy room.

So things have settled down here, although I can’t say they’re back to normal. I always think Bentley is looking at me differently now, although maybe it’s the Plexiglas in the garage window that I wave to him through, or maybe it’s my facial prosthetics that have him discombobulated.

There’s really no reason for him to be unhappy: twice a day we slide the lever that opens the door for him to run out into a little fenced-in play yard (it’s not really a kennel, even though that’s what the kit said), and every few hours we shove food into his cage–I mean, “his room,” of course–through the little trap door my husband installed. We give him all his favorites and as much as he wants! It seems to keep him quiet, although I must say he’s grown remarkably obese; even though he shredded his Angry Bird jammies the minute I shoved them through the trap door, I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t fit into them anymore anyway. And it’s hard, really, to tell through that Plexiglas, but I think sometimes he’s huffing and puffing, as though he’s having trouble getting his breath…poor little guy.

But enough about Bentley, that spoiled thing! I’m thinking of adopting an underprivileged child out of the foster care system. It would be fun to have a little girl this time, like think of the cute tiny clothes! I’ve always wanted to do the whole pageant circuit. That’s just who I am. I’m all about giving, that’s what Bentley would say if he could talk. I’m all about sharing the American Dream.

***

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