Recently, the friend from whom I'm renting my studio told me she'd bought a huge bag of carrots. Too many carrots to eat, she said, and would I like some?
Not one to pass up free carrots, I stepped inside her kitchen and watched as she opened the fridge and pulled out the biggest bag of carrots I have ever seen. Somehow, she managed to wrestle it onto the counter and open it up.
The moment she untied the twisty that held it closed we both knew this bag was different.
It was a Broadway Bag.
Curious carrots—carrots with character—burst out of the bag, singing and dancing as only broadway stars can.
First came the Crookneck Cougar Carrot.
"IIIIIIII will catch you" she belted in a shrill soprano, as she chased a particularly handsome—and much younger—carrot across the granite counter top.
A couple of times she just managed to hook him with her leathery crook-neck, but each time she leaned in to kiss him him he twirled away.
"Thank God," he sang quietly as he spun.
"Thank Gooooood," his voice grew louder.
"Thank God, I took ballet," the music quickened.
"Thank God I took ballet so I. can. get. awaaaaaaaaaaaaay....."
And then he pirouetted professionally off the counter and into my empty plastic bag.
The disappearance of our dapper young dancer didn't daunt the Crookneck Cougar, for out of the bag plodded three more young male carrots.
They didn't dance, really. They sort of tripped their way across the counter.
"Fresh prey..." Crookneck Cougar sang quietly. "...Won't get away, get away, get awaaaaaaaaaay" and she ran eagerly across the counter toward the trio.
But she encountered two problems as she feverishly tried to hook the three.
First, they each had two heads. How to snag both necks with such a slender little hook?
Second, whenever the trio tried to dance to the left some sort of invisible force took over and they lurched to the right. Anytime they tried to move forward, they'd end up stumbling backward. This made it practically impossible for the Crookneck Cougar to aim her hook at their necks with any sort of accuracy.
"We are the Stumbling Stooges," the three sang together, their deep baritone voices lumbering through the air.
"We vacillate, and hesitate, and fluctuate, but please don't haaaate"—the music accelerated into double time—"because we have two heads! What else would you expect?!"
At that point one of the Stumbling Stooges tried to jump into the air and click his heels, but just as he went to jump his other head took over and he leaned into a summersault instead. His flailing body knocked the other Stooges down and they all three tumbled into my open plastic bag.
The Crookneck Carrot was still not disheartened, for there was more movement in the large carrot bag. And then, another young carrot marched onto the stage.
But the poor, miserable carrot had no head or neck. Thus, the Crookneck Carrot couldn't hook him and he paraded freely across the counter and into my open bag.
There is a silver lining in every dark cloud.
At that point it was getting late and my tummy was growling, so I swept the Crook-Neck Carrot into my bag. My friend and I each closed our respective carrot bags. We stared at each other a little bit dazed, and then parted ways.
And that was the end of that.
That was the finest of operas! Encore!
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