Today I was obliged to make my merry way to Target to pick up meds for my Marilla cat. (Side note: my life does not revolve around my cats. Thank you). Anyway, while waiting for the pharmacists to fill both prescriptions (do not revolve around my cats), I wandered over to the clothes department whereat I was bored stiff. And I thought to myself while thumbing idly through dingy shirts and skirts and articles that had the audacity to be all earth tones--not a single bright color in the lot--I thought to myself, Since when did you get to be so boringly adult? I mean, when I was a kid, I promised myself two things, yes, even three things did I vow. When I grew up: 1. I would never cook anything with peppers in it. 2. I would always go to the toy department when I went shopping. 3. I would have as many cats as I wanted. Well, I considered today, staring at a row of shirts which did not improve upon further scrutiny, one out of three ain't bad. I can't say that I consistently want three cats, but it was my choice to take in each and every one of them. But the last three meals I cooked were chock full of peppers, green, red, yellow, orange, the whole spectrum. And here I stood in the boring old ladies' clothing section, not a single toy in sight. I fixed that. I strolled on my merry way, leaving behind this year's summer fashions, and found instead the first aisle full of plastic anthropomorphic enjoyment! My Little Ponies really aren't quite what they used to be. Their eyes are much bigger, and one can't help but wonder if they'll need contact lenses someday. And the Barbies have no better taste in wardrobe than the ladies' clothing department I'd just fled. But the Breyer horses are still beautiful, and there also these awesome little German figures, all fairies and knights and lordly creatures on horseback, and a little figure of a winged horse that I would probably have committed unmentionable crimes for back in the day. But the fun hadn't begun yet. The next aisle over, I found the G. I. Joes. Since the G. I. Joe movie is coming out, the Powers That Be have decided to resurrect all the awesomest of the awesome G. I. Joes. I found Mutt and Junkyard, Red Star, Duke, Python Commandos, even Destro in all his metal-headed glory. And then I tried to call my brothers. Couldn't get them, naturally. I mean, one of them is off in Japan somewhere being a real time hero, the other is doing practical things like working and going to the beach and stuff, and the third brother was off buying a computer somewhere to celebrate his 13th birthday. Woe is me. Lack-a-day. But despite the initial disappointment, I stood awhile in uffish thought, contemplating the goodness that is a little plastic figurine in full battle gear, remembering many a glorious battle of old. Our Joes growing up didn't just fight Cobra, you see. They fought pirates, aliens, perturbed mutant spiders, Barbies, Vikings, and were even present at the Norman conquest at Hastings (I don't remember if they were Normans or Saxons. Probably Saxons, 'cause Tom always liked Harold of Essex better than William). Our G. I. Joes traveled through space and bizarre alternate dimensions. They had near-death encounters with Jim the Not-So-Friendly Giant (as played by my brother, James), with Reggie the Mouse Eater (as played by my first cat). They teamed up with Ninja Turtles, with Batman and the Flash, and even, upon occasion, with the My Little Ponies. Our Joes were awesome. I still carry my favorite one around in my coat pocket. Peter (then a much littler boy) sent him with me when I moved down here, telling me I needed him for protection. And despite the fact that this brave Joe is missing a leg, I always do feel better for having him in my pocket. And I thought to myself, as I gazed into the battle-snarling face of Destro, that my brothers and I probably had more fun together growing up than children have a right to. It was a nice thought. After that, I picked up my cat's medications and wended my way back home to cast myself back into my current manuscript. 4,000 words later, my mind started to wander. I found myself, rather randomly, looking up videos of Roy Rogers. You see, G. I. Joes aside, when I was growing up, Roy Rogers was the last word on all things Cool. My brothers and I could watch Roy Rogers and Trigger all day and all night, and he was, in fact, my first crush (Trigger, that is). So I thought I would bless you all with a link to this video: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=93argkjkRxk. AE (as a rather littler girl): "MAMA!!! MAMA!!!! You know what Tom jus' said? He said Roy Rogers wasn't a real cowboy!" Tom (the know-it-all): "Well he's not! Real cowboys died out a long time ago." AE: "MAMA!!! Did you here what he jus' said?" Mama: "Yes, Annie." AE: "Did all the cowboys die?" Mama: "They didn't die, honey, they just got themselves new jobs by and by. There are still some cowboys though." AE: "And wasn't Roy Rogers a real cowboy?" Mama: "He was a real actor playing a cowboy." AE: " . . . oh." I wasn't entirely certain what she meant by that at the time, but Tom and I came away from that conversation both satisfied that we'd been proven right and went back to playing G. I. Joes. | 
