My House, My Rules

Dan, the delivery guy from the Hong Kong Palace, promised extra egg rolls on my next delivery if I’d let him pet Tallulah.  While I’ve never been one to turn down free Chinese food, I didn’t want to set a precedent.  After being rushed by a mob of onlookers in front of Starbucks, all wanting to pet the monkey, I had decided that I would not allow any strangers to touch or hold Tallulah.  After all, I was responsible for her health and well-being.  And aside from letting her swallow costume jewelry, I was doing a pretty good job of safeguarding her so far. 

Unfortunately, “my house, my rules” means nothing to a monkey.  Even as I was turning down delivery Dan’s bribe, Tallulah leapt at him, wrapping her arms and legs around his head and pushing her belly against his face. 

Though startled, the delivery guy seemed to enjoy the attention.  Tallulah was enjoying it a bit too much, if you ask me.  What at first seemed like an overenthusiastic hug soon began to resemble more of a mating ritual, as Tallulah squeezed tight and began grinding her body up and down, up and down against Dan’s face.  She made a throaty noise unlike the squeaks and titters that made up the bulk of her vocal repertoire.  She was clearly in the throes of passion, and though Dan the delivery man seemed a willing, if not fully aware, participant, I had to put an end to it. 

As I pried Tallulah off the delivery man’s face, I scolded, “That’s not how we tip the delivery guy.” 

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