Phillip
Friday afternoon, I recieve a text message from my father reading "can u quick see if my pet bag phillip is ok important."
I sent him a reply reading "sorry I'm not home so I can't. also, what?!" to which he did not respond.
Later that afternoon I was wandering around in my dining room, setting the table. my father came in to get something and he said to me, "Look behind you." I turn around. there's nothing there but some cardboard boxes that have been sitting there for weeks, on their sides so that their contents are exposed to the world.
"What?"
"Look," he insists, pointing. "It's Phillip."
"What?"
"My pet bag, Phillip." Phillip is a plastic shopping bag, of the Jewel or Dominick's variety, brown and rolled up, inside one of the cardboard boxes.
"Why is he in the box?"
"He's happy there," my Dad explained earnestly and sort of fondly. "he can kind of watch everybody and hear everything everyone is saying, and see everything, and he isn't worried about people throwing him out or the cats bothering him...I think he looks sort of cute, all rolled up in his box."
"But what about food?" I asked. "Where does he go to the bathroom?"
"Food?!" cried my Dad indignantly. "He's a plastic bag! what's the matter with you? plastic bags don't need food! ridiculous!"
after which outburst, there was clearly nothing to do but apologize for insulting Phillip and all of plastic bag kind in general with my insensitive questions.
apparently, my parents had been out somewhere and saw a bag from abt half a block away that was all crumpled up funny and my Mom thought from a distance that it was a cat. only it wasn't, it was a plastic bag. this plastic bag was not Phillip, according to my Mother. my Father claims that it is in fact the same bag. in any case, I guess the idea was planted in my father's mind from that experience, and the same day he brought Phillip home from the street to be loved and tenderly cared for.
And verily, thus we acquired an addition to our household, our pet bag Phillip. although he's really my Dad's pet, but we all praise and admire him to make my Father happy.
I sent him a reply reading "sorry I'm not home so I can't. also, what?!" to which he did not respond.
Later that afternoon I was wandering around in my dining room, setting the table. my father came in to get something and he said to me, "Look behind you." I turn around. there's nothing there but some cardboard boxes that have been sitting there for weeks, on their sides so that their contents are exposed to the world.
"What?"
"Look," he insists, pointing. "It's Phillip."
"What?"
"My pet bag, Phillip." Phillip is a plastic shopping bag, of the Jewel or Dominick's variety, brown and rolled up, inside one of the cardboard boxes.
"Why is he in the box?"
"He's happy there," my Dad explained earnestly and sort of fondly. "he can kind of watch everybody and hear everything everyone is saying, and see everything, and he isn't worried about people throwing him out or the cats bothering him...I think he looks sort of cute, all rolled up in his box."
"But what about food?" I asked. "Where does he go to the bathroom?"
"Food?!" cried my Dad indignantly. "He's a plastic bag! what's the matter with you? plastic bags don't need food! ridiculous!"
after which outburst, there was clearly nothing to do but apologize for insulting Phillip and all of plastic bag kind in general with my insensitive questions.
apparently, my parents had been out somewhere and saw a bag from abt half a block away that was all crumpled up funny and my Mom thought from a distance that it was a cat. only it wasn't, it was a plastic bag. this plastic bag was not Phillip, according to my Mother. my Father claims that it is in fact the same bag. in any case, I guess the idea was planted in my father's mind from that experience, and the same day he brought Phillip home from the street to be loved and tenderly cared for.
And verily, thus we acquired an addition to our household, our pet bag Phillip. although he's really my Dad's pet, but we all praise and admire him to make my Father happy.
posted by Miri at 9:14 PM
4 Comments:
I used to have a pet plastic bag, and as I recall they really like having their bellies scratched while listening to classical music.
well, Phillip's kind of picky about the music; he won't listen to anything but Led Zeppelin.
Miri- Just to inform you that my brother was initially convinced that you made these things up. When I assured him that I had actually been present for this particular incident, he said, and I quote, "she's got some serious problems."
The boy does not understand simple insanity. But he will learn. Yes, he will learn.
oh, honey, you can't make this stuff up. life truly is weirder than fiction.
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