Get in your monkey stance.

Me: “Why do furries creep me out so much?”
Husband: “Well… you do hate pretending…”

It’s true. I do hate pretending.

Husband: “It’s like this blanket. You love this blanket. It’s soft and you say it feels like a bunny. But you’re not thinking of that when you think of furries. You think of people pretending.”

I also think of their creepy pointy dog faces. But point taken.

I like to think I’m fairly open-minded. Or, as I put it when I said that to the Husband “I like to think I’m fairly open-minded… but … yeah. I’m almost definitely wrong about that.”

Sure. I’m pretty liberal and and pretty shameless and pretty cool with other people doing their thing. Furries, you just keep on keeping on — I am sorry my hatred of pretending catches you in its wake. I don’t hate you. I just hate the magic of make believe. Who’s the sick one now?

Fetishy preferences aside — I do of course reserve (and frequently exercise) the right to think people are doing the wrong thing. Quoth Tim Minchin: “If you open your mind too much your brain will fall out.”

But this isn’t about judging people. This is about pretending, and how much I hate it. My open-mindedness contract has a “pretending notwithstanding” clause.

God how I hate it.

Sometimes people ask me what good plays are on. And I have to tell them they are asking the opposite of the right person. Because I don’t go to plays. In fact, I kind of hate the theatre. Does it involve make-believe? A wondrous transmogrification of the heart and soul into the world of fantasy? Are there costumes? Can it be goofy? Is there audience participation? Can I wait in the car?

I mean, I like that the theatre exists. I like that people go to it. I will support its funding, and get all poetically waxical about its essential role in life pushing forward.

I just don’t want to go.

Husband: “I don’t know. It’s some deep-seated fear of yours. It’s why you hate drama kids.” (I don’t hate you drama kids.)
Husband: “It’s why you hate the Hokey Pokey.” (I do. Oh god I do.)
Me: “But the Hokey Pokey isn’t pretending…”
Husband: “Yeaaaah, but it’s the same sort of thing. There’s something in there and you don’t like it. No sir, not one bit.”

Well, maybe I will never Stop Worrying And Learn To Love The Hokey Pokey.

But… there is a spot in my heart for the Tickle Trunk.

Maybe one day it’ll grow a few sizes.

p.s. Aaaahhhh and how much did I love when he’d go to the shelf behind the tickle trunk and there would be some crazy adventure about the figurines back there. I may hate pretending, but everyone loves a good backstory.

p.p.s. Where by “figurines” I of course note they are stuffed animals. Touché furries.