Ah, childhood dreams. While most kids were begging their parents for a puppy, kitten, or maybe a goldfish that inevitably would not survive past a week, I wanted something different. Something exotic. Something… chaotic. I wanted a monkey.
Let’s just pause here to appreciate how bananas (pun intended) that is. I mean, seriously—who in their right mind thinks, “Yeah, sure, let’s bring a little primate into the house. I’m sure that will go well.” But hey, I was a kid. Logic wasn’t exactly my strong suit.
I blame Saturday morning cartoons. You know the ones: adorable little monkeys swinging around, solving mysteries, wearing little outfits, and just generally being the perfect sidekick. I was convinced that my monkey and I would have epic adventures, go on treasure hunts, and probably fight crime together. What could possibly go wrong?
Well, everything.
Let’s fast forward to today, when I stumbled across a news story about monkeys escaping from a South Carolina research facility. That’s right. Not just one monkey, but multiple. They pulled a full “Prison Break” (minus the tattoos and elaborate escape plans), and suddenly I’m sitting here thinking, “Oh. Maybe little Mikee’s dream wasn’t the brightest bulb in the chandelier.”
Let’s face it: Monkeys are not like those fun-loving, peanut-eating sidekicks I dreamed of. No, they’re more like tiny, furry toddlers on a permanent sugar high with a penchant for chaos and destruction. And they escape. They always escape. I’m talking “Houdini in a banana-scented fur coat” levels of escape.
Think about it. You know how hard it is to catch a dog that slips its leash? Now imagine a monkey. These things are fast, agile, and have opposable thumbs, which means they can open doors, unlock windows, and basically live out their best ninja fantasies while your house turns into a jungle-themed disaster zone.
If my childhood wish had come true and I actually got a monkey, my house would have been the set of a 24/7 live-action version of “Jumanji.” I’m talking shattered lamps, stolen snacks, and a lot of poop flinging. And not just the normal “dog ate the couch” chaos. I mean “monkey hanging from the ceiling fan while screaming and eating my homework” levels of chaos.
Honestly, the more I think about it, the more I realize how lucky I am that my parents had the good sense to say “no.” Because sure, having a monkey sounds cool until you’re chasing it down the street with a net while your neighbors film the whole thing for TikTok.
The real reason I never got a monkey is probably because my parents didn’t want to star in the local news. Can you imagine the headlines?
“Local Kid’s Monkey Terrorizes Neighborhood, Makes Off with Entire Fruit Basket.”
Nope, hard pass.
So, if you ever feel nostalgic about those childhood dreams, just remember: somewhere in South Carolina, the police are still hunting down escapee monkeys, and someone, somewhere, is regretting every life choice that led them to that moment.
And to that person, I say: better you than me.