Every time we send out a book to our Bobbledy club members, we also send a letter full of newsy bits. And we also send a drawing sheet—some sort of activity involving drawing implements and creativity. A recent sheet featured cutouts of Robbi’s and my heads and the opportunity to draw bodies for us. Little did we anticipate that readers would take the opportunity to stage morality plays with Robbi and me as the leading players.
For example, one young woman named Mo drew the following:
In case you can’t make out what’s happening above (I struggled to find altruism where there, apparently, was none), Mo’s mom Barb offers the following explanatory notes:
I’m so sorry, Matthew . . . you’re being attacked by hedgehogs. While Robbi has lovely long legs and a new bonnet. It’s like Mo knows you.
Indeed, Mo’s knowledge of our inner workings is astonishing (and alarming). I spend most nights in restless nightmares of being chased by hedgehogs, and Robbi spends most days dropping unsubtle hints that she would love me more if only I’d buy her a bonnet. She also pines for long legs but knows that even the most generous husband can’t help her on that front.
As discouraging as it was to see Mo’s drawing, her work was not done. Not nearly. As she continued, Mo drew snakes. And were the snakes, nice, small, sit-in-your-hand-nicely-while-you-try-to-get-over-your-fear-of-snakes sorts of snakes? No indeed. They were mean snakes. And their sole objective in life was going after me.
Mo is still drawing, and now there are some snakes going after Matthew, too. Oh, the humanity!
How can I interpret the above profusion of red as anything but great heaps of blood? Or maybe it is the embodiment of agony? I cannot say. And it does not seem to matter. In spite of all the effort I put into making books for her to read, Mo seems to have it in for me. I guess I have to accept it.
The one small shred of comfort I can take is seeing that, in the course of all the me-centric carnage, Robbi seems to have lost her bonnet.