(Ok, I should have had a “spoiler alert” at the top of this. To my 5-year-old-and-under readers (and Walter, down at the pub) – I’m sorry. Try to think of Santa not so much as a real person, but, you know, as that holiday spirit that makes people a little cheerier around Christmas, ok?)
Anyway, while things like Santa and the Kwanzaa Kangaroo seem to be important for kids, we eventually grow out of the need for them, and into a more reality-based world. That’s how it’s supposed to work, at least.
I never thought that at my advanced age I would once again have to go through the agony of being told that something wonderful, something that made life really worth living, was simply a lie, but I had this conversation last night:
I pulled it out and opened it up. Nothing caught my eye at first – there was the customary lack of paper money and the ever-growing stack of business cards from people I don’t recall meeting. Then I saw it … a crumpled up slip of paper wedged way down in the corner. I caught my breath, and slowly drew it out. Deep down, I knew what it was, but I couldn’t make myself uncrumple it, so afraid was I of the horrifying truth I was facing.
Dead Acorn: What a great day! The Silo Fairy visited me again last night!
Girl With Whom I Was Conversing: (after a spit-take with the beer she had just chugged) I’m sorry, what?
DA: The Silo Fairy!
GWWIWC: What the fuck are you talking about?
DA: You know … the Silo Fairy! Every once in a while, she visits at night, and leaves a 24 oz. can of Bud Light in the water bottle cage of my bicycle!
DA: Doesn’t she ever visit you?
GWWIWC: Dead Acorn, I need to tell you something. There … there is no Silo Fairy. That’s you leaving here all hammered and buying a can at the Stinker Station and forgetting about it on the ride home.
DA: Wh ... what?
DA: (putting my hands over my ears) SHUT UP! SHUT UP! THAT’S NOT TRUE!
GWWIWC: Look, Dead Acorn, I know this is hard. But take a look in your wallet.
DA: (fighting back tears) Wh .. why? Why are you doing this?
GWWIWC: Just do it, Dead Acorn. You have to.
My friend reached over and took it from my shaking hands, then flattened it and placed it in front of me. My eyes were filled with tears, but I could still make out the words ... those terrible, terrible words:
Hyde Park Stinker #2754I think my sobbing caused a bit of a scene, because she led me out to the parking lot so that I could compose myself. “Hold me …” I begged. “There, there,” she said, and while I knew my life had been irrevocably changed, her embrace provided much needed solace, and I knew that somehow, I would be able to go on.
Date: 11/14/2010 01:37 AM
24 oz. BudLt .......$1.49
We eventually went back inside and finished our beers. I guess I’m okay with knowing the truth, and in all honesty, I’m sort of pleased that hammered Dead Acorn has the foresight to make such strategic late-night purchases.
There’s no way in hell, though, that I’m going to tell my friend about the Bacon Bunny.