Tales Over Supper

January 5, 2009

posted and written by Caroline Picard


This Christmas, my family laising around a kitchen with two poodles, one giant, the other toy, both black, sniffing around every counter in search of discarded scraps of turkey, we all felt quite comfortable. Post meal, post pumpkin pie–

My brother-in-law started telling this incredible story, it lighted my imagination, kindling the same parts of my brain that enjoyed the stories of New Yorkers flushing baby alligators down the toilet; alligators that (I was told) had since grown up and infested the New York City Sewage System. My childhood self developed a strange phobia about sitting on any and all toilets, for fear that an alligator might raise it’s head in the midst of my vulnerabilty and bite my bottom off. Before Christmas I had forgot the joy of animals in urban landscapes and the potency of urban myth.

Tim told a story about a couple in the 80’s, at the peak of the stock market when people sucked on coke like it was candy, with diamonds and penny loafers and pleated skirts, rolex watches and microwaves. This couple got married, they moved into their fancy apartment on the Upper East Side. On their second wedding anniversary he bought her a lion cub. They loved the lion cub very much, it had been rescued from hunters in Africa he said, by purchasing this lion they had actually saved 1,000 lions. And they kept the lion in their apartment where they fed it steaks and caviar and invited friends over for dinner to see.

Three years later, the couple went through a rough patch. They’d been through rough patches before, but this was really rough, so rough that he had divorce papers drawn up. She moved out, stormed out in a huff, denied everything, all of the loose accusations, and with a leather bag full of lingerie, she stormed out of the apartment, weeping on the elevator attendant’s shoulder. She went to stay with her mother.

He, full of guff and a quick onset of indecision paced back and forth, fed the lion, drank too much and bought a ticket to the Bahamas for a week.

When he returned to the apartment, after the papers had been signed, he opened the door to pack up his things and the lion, whom each had somehow forgotten, ate him up; docile no more.

At the end of the story I suddenly noticed the larger poodle trotting around in hysterics because it was wearing the turkey carcass as a hat. Evidently it knocked the bird off the table, and now (inexplicably) couldn’t see.


One Response to “Tales Over Supper”

  1. Tim Says:

    Interesting Read! Very detailed blog.
    Thanks for sharing

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