I had coffee today with a Chief Warrant Officer buddy of mine, and we talked about guns. Specifically, he recounted how he stopped an intruder at gunpoint. We had a good laugh.
Afterward, I put on my letter jacket, climbed into my four wheel drive SUV with my dog in the passenger seat, and listened to country western music all the way home.
I felt like a man.
Not that there is anything wrong with NOT being a man, but I am, in fact, a male, so … oh, never mind.
It doesn’t matter anyhow because when I came home my daughter asked me to snuggle up on the couch and watch the “Strawberry Shortcake” movie. For those who watch nothing but war movies like I used to, “Strawberry Shortcake” is a delightful cartoon about tiny little girls who live in a strawberry patch. The most sought-after goal in life is – if I have this right – to drink juice, eat fruit pies and dance.
There is a lot of pink. And purple. And other colors not found in nature, but most definitely found in “Barbie” accessories.
The movie lasted over an hour. A big pebble had lodged over the fountain and the garden was going to die for lack of water, but (SPOILER ALERT) some of the tiny girls figured out a way to dislodge it and save the garden and their strawberry way of life.
By the end of the movie, any testosterone I had built up had long since drained away. Just when I thought I could not get any further from machoville, the credits, thankfully, started to roll.
But like many movies today who have developed the annoying habit of having additional scenes play while the credits flash on the screen, “Strawberry Shortcake” appeared with a guitar and began to sing a song.
My daughter jumped up and said, “Dance with me Daddy!”
My testosterone buildup was now in emergency back full. Visions of sugarplums danced in my head, as did the words of several “soft rock” ballads from the 70s. The last thing I remember was looking at my fingernails and thinking how much better they would look if I had them manicured.
When I woke up I was in my upstairs studio. Dirty clothes littered the floor. My trash can was full. Old cartoons lay scattered on every horizontal surface in the room, waiting to be filed. A lifetime of military plaques hung unevenly on the wall.
I was back.
That was a close call. Next time I’ll be more careful. Next time I’ll choose the movie. No more “Strawberry Shortcake.”
Unless they make a “Strawberry Shortcake Goes To War” video. That one might be worth the watch.