Saylor's Goodreads Bookshelf

Saylor's books

Animal Farm
Where the Sidewalk Ends
The Great Gatsby
To Kill a Mockingbird
The Catcher in the Rye
Of Mice and Men
The Alchemist
Slaughterhouse-Five
Me Talk Pretty One Day
Lord of the Flies
The Adventures of Huckleberry Finn
Little Women
Frankenstein
A Tale of Two Cities
The Count of Monte Cristo
Les Misérables
Moby-Dick or, The Whale
The Joy Luck Club
Middlesex
The Memory Keeper's Daughter


Saylor's favorite books »
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Wednesday, July 4, 2012

Happy 4th!
Let me preface this story with a note. We have a new kitten who has such a strange little personality.  Nothing frightens her. Not the older and 4 times her size male cat. Not loud noises, not fire, not water, nothing, she's just kinda fearless that way. So onward,

Remember those little fireworks that were sometimes called snakes?  A little puck that you'd light with a match and it would grow out of the puck like a squirmy black snakes?  So I see a fireworks stand (which are run by non-profits here and this one was run by the local historical society ladies) and I think  'hm, I wonder what Margaux Martine (the kitten) would think of those little growing snakes? I think I'll stop in a get a couple. I remembered them as being like a quarter for a box of like 6 or something and it'll be nice to help out the historical society.

So I pull up next to this large 10 ft by 30 ft cage which holds about 6-8 women and a shit-load of gun powder.  Now you can't really see anything inside very well because of the fencing but immediately someone from within asks me:  "What can I get you?"
"Do you have those little snake things you light, y'know?"
She holds up a package of 8 canisters, probably holding about 50 of the snake pucks.  I don't really need that many, I think.
"Can I buy just like one of those?"
"Well, hold on now.  There's another one here." And she holds up a pack of like 6.
"You can give them to your friends."  One says from within.
"That's fine," I say.  "How much?"  Since they don't have the prices displayed.
"2.49."
I hand in a 5 dollar bill a little ways down the assembly line.
"What's your first name?"  I hear the woman who helped me call out.
That's kinda weird, I think. But it is post 9/11 and who knows what kind of mini-disaster I could create using the snake pucks. So I say, "Marla".
Then another snarky voice from within pipes up, "Way to spend big, Mar."
I know.
But that's not why I was taken aback.  That shit spewing mouth is sitting in a cage with enough gun-powder to blow her and everyone around her to kingdom come taking half the parking lot with her.  Having that much hate and frustration in your heart is dangerous.  The reason I didn't reach into my purse and throw a lit match at her was because I am sane.
I looked over to see another woman stuck in that danger cage who locked eyes with me and said, "Thank you, it's fine. It's fabulous."

And now of course I feel guilty, I should have rescued the nice fabulous lady from the cage and then thrown the match in.

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