Why, I ask you, is it perfectly permissible, I might add, encouraged, that you have full on conversations with your pet? “Good morning, Ari” (my dog’s name). I sing the same good morning song to him I sang to my four girls when they were little. They would join in, Ari does not, thank goodness.
Why, I ask you, is it perfectly permissible to find the grocery item you have been looking for, like eggs for instance, and the price gives you a severe case of agita?
Do you think it’s OK to take a deep sigh of frustration, and you utter a few choice words to the innocent eggs? (I do not refer here to words of encouragement). Do you really believe no one can hear you, or give you “The Stare?”
Oh please — don’t pretend you never speak to your car. Never shouted as your foot floors the engine and floods said engine: “What the h— is wrong with you? You always do this to me when I am late for work!”
No reason to tell a fib! Someone is always listening. Your Alexa, for example, does not only hear you, but if she is asked, can repeat your every word. So be careful what you say to your pet, or plant, or appliance.
How about your toaster oven? Never had a discussion with your car radio? I admit, I have long conversations and/or strong arguments with the folks on my NPR station.
Why, I ask you, are we encouraged to talk to our plants, who sometimes respond with beautiful flowers and healthy leaves, and, more often than not, can’t listen to that baby voice we use when talking to them, so they choose to turn brown? Green thumb vs. brown thumb. Why, I ask you, do we then feel guilty that we killed them?
What about your microwave or refrigerator? Try leaving the refrigerator doors open for more than the refrigerator determines necessary. I am constantly explaining to my fridge to wait just a minute, I hear you. If the fridge is not convinced and continues with that high-pitched scream, I shout something along the line of, “I said just a minute don’t you listen?”
Well, I must admit, some of my most interesting discussions are with inanimate objects. After all, I get to express myself without fear of back talk or any sort of reprisal.
Why, I ask you, do my girls or my grans think I am going a bit overboard when I actually speak with, or scream at, the little deer and baby squirrels to get out of the middle of the road? I’m not sure, but I believe their parents thank me for saving their babies.
And, I must admit I am quite stern with the deer who insist upon eating my flowers.
Speaking of babies! Lately I have been having wonderful conversations and ear-splitting duets with my baby birds who happen to hang around my property. I’m no Taylor…what’s her name, but I hold my own with my baby birds.
There are some red traffic lights, who quite deliberately turn red when they see my car. They will hear my angry Bronx words fly out of my mouth. These words are so hot, they sting my lips. Sometimes, the lights are so taken aback, they immediately change to green and wish me goodbye and good riddance.
I was a true Bronx girl who loved horseback riding, yes, it’s true, even when I arrived home with a sore b–t. I dreamed of being Dale Evans, riding my horse, wearing my cowgirl hat and red paisley bandana. The problem was no matter which horse I was given to ride, conversations were not their forte. I never met a horse who appreciated my language of expressions. Believe me, shouting at them, trying to explain things to them, whether in English or Yiddish, had absolutely no impact on the horse. “Kick gently with the heel of your shoe.” Not on your life was I going to risk a physical altercation with this oversized and overpowering pony.
Why then, I ask you, do we act so quickly and with so much fervor to these annoyances, but are afraid to use our voices in protest to the issues that cause real and true agita?