March comes in like a lion, and goes out like a lamb.
April comes in like a wet dog, and goes out like a full-grown sheep.
May comes in like a butterfly, and goes out like another, less-interesting butterfly — not quite a moth, but almost.
June comes in like a baby bird filled with potential and eager to experience summer, but goes out like a bird that spends its entire life pecking at trash and sitting on the same telephone pole for three months.
July comes in like a tadpole and goes out like some sort of tadpole/turtle hybrid we’ll call Turt-pole.
August is just a hot, sticky fly cleaning itself atop a steamy puddle of bubbly dog saliva.
September comes in like the screeching mom from Malcolm in the Middle and goes out like a teenager who tasted beer for the first time.
October comes in like an amateur dentist and leaves like a metaphor.
November comes in and hides whatever is in that bag. What’s in that bag, November? Tell us. We won’t be mad. We promise!
December comes in like a peacock demanding your attention and goes out like an intelligent, yet desperate, dinosaur testing the electric perimeter fence looking for a weakness…and freedom.
January sits there like the Wendy’s cup under a car seat from 2008.
February comes in like an icy, cold dagger and goes out like someone who cannot believe how early or late Easter is this year.
“Did you order a rhinoceros?” Father asked from the hallway. His hand was held out, palm up so the rhinoceros could smell it.
“No, dear,” Mother said from the living room where she was reading a book. “And I don’t think you can order them from the store. It must have come from a zoo or the wild, I’d suppose.”
The rhinoceros had sniffed Father’s hand and judged him to be a good person and not food, and so the giant creature lumbered into the living room, knocking down paintings and scuffing the wallpaper as he lazily passed through a narrow hallway.
“Well perhaps we should call the zoo, then,” Father said, taking off his coat and putting his briefcase down. The rhinoceros was 32% certain the briefcase was not food.
“Good idea,” Mother said as she went into the kitchen to make the call. From upstairs, Father heard his son stumble and jumble.
Little Bradley ran down the stairs, jumping over the last three in one leap. He was hastily buttoning his sweater. “I got my sweater! Now can we go out!? Hi Father! Isn’t this the best?” Continue reading Daily Transmission #22: Rhinoceros Ride