It’s always fun to come home and find new presents under the Christmas tree. We have a tradition of just slipping newly wrapped presents under the tree, without saying anything to the interested party. As this year I drug out the old Chromium 1950’s tree, new presents springing up like weeds under the tree have an aluminum sparkle upon them.
Then, I came home to find this….
Yes. It’s a box labeled “Octopus” What does that mean?? My mind whirled. Is there a real octopus in that box. Am I getting a pet octopus? Maybe more than one. That would be cool if I did, get more than one, because then I could finally use my knowledge that there are three correct plural forms of octopus: octopuses, octopi, and octopodes. I could meet people and say, “Hey, wanna come back to my house? I could show you my octopuses, octopi, or octopodes depending on if you’re English, Greek, or Latin....” Scratch that. I should never say that. To anyone. Ever.
I stared at the box for a while, dreaming of my pet octopi. I’d be a hit at the gay park, as I would train it to catch frisbees. My dreaming of long walks with Octavious; however, were dashed when the box was gone the next day. Apparently it was a punch bowl for a very strange friend.
I’m left with a wanting of Octavious. My pet octopus.