“I’m getting real tired of this crap.”
You wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of pants, would you? Mine are currently…inadequate. See, Wife and I just visited the gorilla exhibit at the zoo, and, well – how do I put this? – I soiled myself. Allow me to explain. In anticipation of having our weekends booked until the end of time, Wife and I decided to treat ourselves to a two-day vacation that included a jaunt to the Franklin Park Zoo. While not quite the crown jewel of Boston, FPZ is easily the crown polyester liner: it’s cheap, crumbling, and smells like a sweaty, overweight king who sleeps on a straw mattress and likes to roll around in the mud. To be fair, FPZ is family friendly and a pleasant place to walk around, so for expecting parents like us, it was perfect. My only beef with FPZ is that its layout is designed in such a way that you are lulled into a false sense of security by the time you get to the final exhibit: the gorilla dome. Normally, I wouldn’t admit to being scared by gorillas, especially in the context of a bullet-proof glass enclosure, but when you have just spent the last two hours lazily strolling past one solitary, obese camel, a lion that looked like he only does the Nautilus machines, and a giraffe-less giraffe field, you get a little complacent. “None of Our Animals Could Possibly Kill You!” should be FPZ’s motto. That is, until you get to the gorilla dome. There I was, directing my extremely pregnant Wife to smile so I could snap a photo of her standing mere feet from a large silverback gorilla when…THWACK! The gorilla slammed his fifty-pound fist into the reinforced partition, prompting Wife, myself, and the rest of the onlookers to scream. I’m serious – we all screamed. Afterwards, I could have sworn I saw the gorilla laughing. Now, about those pants.
Nailsbails 