In celebration of World Monkey Day, I shall share a horrifying monkey-related story.
My grandmother had a monkey-skin rug. Made from the skin of a black-and-white colobus, then purchased in Kenya in the early 1960s, it was as morally questionable as it was beautiful. As someone who prefers monkey skins on living monkeys, I’m somewhat glad I never actually saw it.
One day, while grandma was cleaning out her cupboards, she came across the rug in its bag. Morbidly curious, we asked her to bring it out and show us. So grandma brought the bag over and opened it up. All that remained of the monkey-skin rug was a pile of dust.
Due to the demands of life outside of books, I am unable to provide you with a review this week. Instead, have some dramatic back story*.
It may shock you to hear this, but I went to Catholic school. Religious Education was a compulsory subject, which I was cool with, because in the later years especially the focus was more on spirituality and comparative religion than anything to do with Jesus. I had some shocking teachers, but one in particular is another story for another day. Today, we are to learn about Papa Smurf. Continue reading