Yesterday Sherman and I were preparing for book club. We were reading the last few pages of The Lovely Bones, and by that, I mean that we were quickly Wikipedia-ing The Lovely Bones so we could hold our own in the dog-eat-bear world that is our book club.
Oh, and by we I mean I. As usual, Sherman had not only read the book, but compiled a dosier on the author. PS-Sherman is the black bear that I have been bording with ever since I graduated from college and into the unemployment line of life.
"Did you know Stanley Tucci was in the movie?" I ask Sherman, as I frantically scroll down the useless recap. "I love him!"
"The feeling isn't mutual," Sherman reassures me. I don't know that that is true and assume Sherman is just being co-dependent. He doesn't need to be. Like I have any other options. Plus, he is really good with my cat, which impresses me, since he is a bear."Besides, so was Mark Wahlberg."
Sherman knows I can't stand Mark Wahlberg. He was tolerable in his 'Marky Mark' days, but only because he would talk about his third nipple, and really, how much of that can you take? Now he is just useless.
The fact that I have issues with a character actor I will never meet is what some people would describe as a weakness. It's problematic when the people you love know your weaknesses. Especially when you have as many as I do.
"Whatever," I say, brushing him off in frustration. Besides, I know Sherman's weakness too. Like I said, he is co-dependent.
The thing with co-dependence is that I am a fan of it. If Sherman thinks he needs to try really hard to keep me around, I'm not going to be the one to point out that he could do way better than me. I mean, even that skunk across the way is more capable than I am. At least it has defenses. I can't even get through a fucking book, let alone defend myself against a predator in the forest.
"We should have watched the movie," I continue. "Then we'd at least know what the others are talking about."
"I'll know. I read the book," Sherman replies before heading down to the brook to get our breakfast. He is obviously more well-read than I am, but, then, that isn't saying much. Being the brightest person in my family is like being the smartest person at a GOP convention. It doesn't mean you deserve a fucking medal is what I'm getting at. It's more of a best in show accolade where everybody knows the show should have been canceled.
"Well, that was nice of you to throw me under the bus like that," I whine when he gets back.
"I didn't throw you under the bus," Sherman replies. "It's not my fault you procrastinate. Here. Eat this. We're going to be late."
Sherman tosses me a honey comb. The thing is, Sherman is allergic to honey. The fact that he goes out of his way every day to find me some while I am sitting here getting my bitch on because he is a proactive member of the boreal community just underscores what a better person he is than me. And, he is a fucking bear.
I should really complement him. But, screw it. I'm not going to let him know he is slumming it with me.
"Right, like the squirrel has better things to be doing today," I complain.
When we get to our meeting place--a hot spring about a mile down the brook--things go from bad to worse for me. The critters of the forest are annoyed by me. I don't blame them. I don't read the books, I eat more than my fair share of the refreshments, and I scowl whenever somebody makes a valid point. In other words, I am the bitch of the forest. However, they all put up with me because everybody loves Sherman.
"Oh Sherman, tell us what you think the book is really saying--you are so insightful," chirps the bluejay.
"Oh Sherman, you make us feel so safe and protected," twitches the rabbit.
"Oh Sherman, you are so much smarter than that icky human," rattles the snake.
Valid points all, but still, I don't have to like it. Plus this isn't The Oprah Network. I don't have to win anybody over. And I didn't come here looking for new friends...I came looking for the cheesecake. Since I'd polished that off about 2.2 seconds after arriving here, I was good to go.
Besides, I had already won the affections of the one they all want. So, I did what any red-blooded human would do after eating a full cheesecake. I took a nap.
I don't know what it was. Maybe the cream-chesse had turned in the sun, but I had quite the nightmare. I dreamt I was stuck living in the forest and Sherman bailed on me.
I woke up in a sweaty panic of my own fear.
A million thoughts ran through my head. What if Sherman didn't love me? What if I was alone in this crap-tastic forest and had to survive all on my own? What if I had to find my own honeycomb? What if no one made me cheesecake?
Surely I would last no more than a couple of days in such a cold alternative universe.
I looked around like a lunatic to make sure the bear had not abandoned me. But, noticing that book club was still going on, I went back to sleep. Sherman is right. If nothing else, I am a procrastinator. Even when it comes to nightmares.
This time I dreamt a dream of angels. No fucking book club. No fucking squirrels or bunnies or bluejays trying to steal Sherman away from me. Just me and the bear and my cat. Okay, the skunk can stay, but only because it is quiet--I'm not a complete ass.
This time when I woke up I had a plan. I knew I needed to make Sherman know he should stay with me and not run off with that skanky little bluejay.
Since I am lazy and stupid, I thought the best way to convey my value to Sherman was by buying him something. A person's bank account always conveys their worth. That's what Donald Trump told me. After he declared bankruptcy. For the second time.
Since I am unemployed and don't have any assets, I tried to sell a few things on e-Bay. I had a couple of old X-Men comic books and when I sold them I made the mistake of wrapping them in the birch-bark paper that is so plentiful in the forest instead of bubble wrap, which I saved for Sherman, since I know he likes to pop it.
The transaction was a success. Or, so I thought, until i received the following feedback from the buyer on my e-Bay account: "This seller is an amateur. DO NOT BUY FROM THIS SELLER!!!"
Geeze, and I thought the bluejay was pissed with me.
So I responded: "What do you mean AMATEUR?"
But, to be fair, he was right. I am not exactly the Serena Williams of selling shit on e-Bay. I'm not even the Serena Ryder of my own book club and I am the only one who speaks English--the language in which all of our books are written.
After returning the buyer's money, I gave Sherman the bubble-wrap since I thought he could at least enjoy that. I figure that if I can't trick him into thinking I am rich and thoughtful, I will just have to be honest and tell him he matters.
"Here is some bubble-wrap. I know you love it," I smile between my tears of defeat. "I love you."
My mother taught me one thing about love. It only works if both individuals think the other person is out of their league. "Then you'll spend your whole life trying to keep them instead of becoming complacent," she would say. "Unless you are in an open relationship...then it doesn't really matter."
I guess Sherman would agree with that, as he walked over and gave me a big bear-hug.
Since I, unlike my mother, am not a Mormon, I am glad I know that this big bear is way out of my league. I curl up beside him in the den and start to read our next book out loud. It's somethign Sherman likes to do and I am going to try and like it. Even if it's only for the cheesecake.
"What's up with this?" asks a puzzled Sherman.
"Don't question it," I smile. "It's kind of like the moon landing. You just have to go with it or it won't make any sense at all."
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