Do you remember that terrible show at the zoo last weekend? The one where the animal completely lost its mind and freaked out and made horrible noises and frightened the children and flailed its legs and clawed at its handler, and had to be restrained and removed from the area before it hurt itself or some innocent zoo guest?
That was US, Nashville. The grand Snyder shitshow at high noon.
I want to be clear that we started out so strong, so brave, so beautiful and ready. All good manners and holding hands and listening ears and sisterly love and sharing apple slices and joyfully helping each other identify the unmistakable “potty hole” in the Meerkat exhibit.
And then, oh, I don’t know. Things happened. Or maybe it was that they didn’t. Regardless, my sweet baby O went primal by the playground, across from the gift shop, in the most high-traffic area she could find, just as you were getting ready to enjoy the long-armed gibbons. It was so much more than a tantrum we gave you; it was a performance.
In return, you gave us looks of pity and amusement, disapproval and disgust. And to the few kind souls who simply went on about the business of gibbon-watching, we thank you from the bottom of our unhinged hearts.
Catt & the Girls