I will forever be that girl that was attacked by a monkey

I think no matter what I may accomplish in life, I will be remembered as the girl that got attacked by a monkey. At my funeral, when my friends are gathered in their most somber finery, their reflections on my life will all prominently feature the infamous monkey attack.

You were attacked by a monkey?

Why, yes, I was. It all took place in Mexico. Most great adventures or tales of the bizarre take place, or should at least, take place in Mexico. A story beginning with "this one time when I was in Mexico" almost guarantees hilarity. Or at the very least, an interesting story.

So, this one time, when I was in Mexico. My mom, sister and I were at a dock waiting to board a boat for a midnight cruise. The dock was filled with interesting things, including a rather large cage with a monkey. Growing up in a small town in East Texas, I didn't encounter many monkeys, so I was fascinated. I walked around the side of the cage to get a better look at the monkey. I was excited. A monkey! How cool is that! Look at it swinging around the trees.

At that moment, I guess the monkey became fascinated with me because he came over to investigate. Before I knew what was happening, the monkey had grabbed me by my hair and started banging my head into the cage.

I will pause for your laughter.

Yes. It was banging my head into the cage. Eventually, I freed myself from the clutches of the monkey. I went to the bathroom to wash my face. Yes, I had cried. Hey, I was attacked by a monkey. It was traumatic. You would cry too.

Anyway, as I was leaving, I check my pockets for my ticket so I could get on the boat and far, far away from the monkey. It wasn't there. I frantically checked my pockets again. Still not there. I had dropped my ticket. And, I was pretty certain I knew where. I walked back to the monkey cage and, sure enough, there was my ticket right at the edge of the cage. I thought if I just stuck my hand in really quickly and grabbed it, I would be okay.

So I attempted this. I cautiously stuck my hand in. The monkey flies across the cage, grabs me by my hair, and starts banging my head into the cage. Again.

I did finally escape the clutches of the monkey. But from that point on, I was the girl that was attacked by the monkey. Sure, I tell the story a lot. It was really character defining in a way. Not that I experienced any emotional growth or major change. No, it pretty much just set me up for a life of bizarreness.

And that is okay. It means more interesting stories.