Sandy Supposes....

Frau Finicky

PROMPT: War Chest Wednesday! Imagine yourself starring in your favourite cartoon. What role would you play, and how would the episode turn out?

          The Minions amuse me with their shenanigans, their naivety, their high energy, their curiosity, and their strange blended language. They seem to bumble along from one frenzied fiasco to another. They are all male, and somewhat unruly. I imagine that I am hired by their master/caretaker, Gru to teach them manners, that is to say etiquette and the finer points of civilized behaviour. I suppose my name/title could be Frau Finicky.

          The many Minions react to our meeting with incredulous laughter, and they make fun of my surname. "Icky, icky, sticky, tricky!" I am forced to instill discipline, but they resist. Improving their posture is just the beginning. They seem to think they cannot stand tall because they are short and round. They bump and bounce off each other. Eventually, they display a wee bit of annoyance with each other, and so resort to pushing and tripping.

         Undeterred, I demonstrate a polite greeting with a handshake, and a few words. "Bonsoir. Comment-allez vous?" They do like to mimic, and they mime kissy-kissy fish lips. There is laughter and hooting. Again, a few take offence and retaliate with slapping. It becomes a free-for-all. Holding doors open for each other creates a stalemate. No one will actually step through the door, and they repeat, "Apres vous, non, non, après vous." The first one through the door is shoved, and then jumped on. It appeals to them all, and it turns into a body slam, or tackle.

         Thinking that the way to a male's heart is via his stomach, or hoping that food will tame the belligerent beast, I assemble the Minions at a long table laden with food. They lick their lips and slobber in anticipation, but first they must learn and execute table manners. Let's just say that the cloth napkins do not necessarily get placed on laps; some become bandannas, some become head wraps. Of course, they titter and tee hee. Attempts to demonstrate the correct usage of cutlery fails predictably. Forks are flung. Spoons slip and slide. Knives are used to pick at teeth, and carve into the table. Soup is slurped and spilled. Salad is tossed. Amid the frenzied food fight that ensues, I sigh, shrug, and join in. Etiquette can be overrated, n'est-ce pas?