Harry...

Meet Harry.

Harry is a turtle we found on a walk yesterday. 

Harry is not thrilled about our having met.

I take offense to his disdain and say,

“Harry! Don’t act like I don’t know you’re in there!”  And when he continues to inch further in his shell, I say,

“Mama didn’t raise no fool! You look at me Harry.  Harryyyy?”

(This is an appropriate time for me to address my jacked-up pinky.  When I taught middle school, if someone bumped into me I’d often yell, “OWWWW I think you just broke my pinky!”  I’d slowly lift up my pinky, look at its crookedness in horror, and relish in the sound of 30 people gasping at once. Then I’d wait three awkward seconds to see what the perpetrator would do. After the look of horror, the pleas for mercy, and a quivering lip, I’d pat him on the back and say, “Aww, no sweat” and then walk away.  Just so we’re all clear- I never really let it get to a quivering lip.  No one deserves that.)

Anyhoo, back to Harry.  Harry reminds me of the friends who retreat when you look them straight in the eye, the ones who say, “Oh you want to get real? Okay, well let me get inside my shell, and THEN we can talk about it.”  I really don’t have anyone specific in mind, I just want there to be some grand metaphor for me having brought up Harry at all.  I wanted it to come around full circle and end with a good life lesson.  Oh well.

So, after Harry’s royal snub, I put him back in the creek bed, turned up the song, “You’re Gonna Miss Me” in my ipod, took my sunglasses off and then put them back on in a really dramatic way and walked away.  Slowly.   

If you ever meet a Harry in your life, someone who won’t get out of their shell, someone who tries to just hide in the crowd, remember this little guy, and do what you know needs to be done.  You hold the key to the answers you must unlock. 

You’re welcome.

(This blog post brought to you by the medicine I'm on the for the aformentioned cornea issues.)