“Oh hey Stan.”
I hated Stan.
“Oh, hey Gus.”
Stan was wearing a velvet robe. He had his hair slicked back and his tail fluffed. He smelled of musk and sensual chocolate.
“Hey Stan, remember that nutcracker I lent you, three months –”
“So, good weather we’re having huh?”
“Sure is. Great nut-cracking weather…now where the hell’s my nutcracker?”
“Gus, an unemployed squirrel like you wouldn’t understand. I’m a busy man — squirrel — anyway, I’ve got nuts to crack, bills to pay, 15 kids to take to soccer practice every Thursday, I’ll –”
“You sold that motherfucker, didn’t you?”
He sold my nutcracker.
“I sold your nutcracker.”
God dammit.
“That nutcracker was a present from my wife’s parents!”
“I know. I got their permission to sell it.”
“So what’d you buy with the money, Stan?”
“Oh, nothing special, just normal expenses and…”
“Did you buy my wife that pearl necklace?”
He bought my wife that pearl necklace.
“I bought your wife that pearl necklace.”
God dammit.
I scampered inside my hole. It was empty — Nancy was at yoga. I saw it was Thursday. Stan should have been taking his kids to soccer practice. In the corner, I saw Nancy’s yoga mat. What the hell was going on? I scampered back outside. Stan was sprawled out on a branch, smoking a cigarette and smelling muskier than ever.
“Stan, where the hell is Nancy!”
“Ow, quit throwing acorns at me, can’t you see I’m trying to relax here?”
“I said, where the hell is Nancy!”
“Let it go, Gus. You and Nancy were never meant to be together.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look at you. You’re overweight, unemployed, and you eat all of your family’s nuts while they watch and starve. Nancy needed me to survive. You call yourself bushy-tailed? You’re nothing but a glorified tree rat!”
I knew he was right. I was pathetic. A joke of a squirrel. I couldn’t blame Nancy for what she’d done, I should have been a better….wait a minute…wait a minute…Stan had to be wrong. I was the best damn squirrel this park had ever seen. The only reason she…
“You’re wrong Stan! You’re wrong! I’m taking you down!”
“Bring it, punk!”
– 5 minutes later –
“Ow! Dammit Stan!”
“Face it Gus, you fight like a chipmunk.”
“So are you gonna keep sleeping with my wife or what?”
“Yeah, probably.”
God dammit.