This may be a little-known fact, but . . I do a badass monkey noise.
No seriously. If I did it right now in the room where you are, you would say "Woah! Who let the monkey in???"
I don't really know why I started doing The Monkey Noise, but for awhile, I did it all the time.
When I lived in McCollum Hall, my room looked out over the main entrance. On a beautiful fall day, this was considered great entertainment:
We would open the windows. To let fresh air in, right?
No, it was so that several of us could huddle to either side of the windows, trying to get a good view of the people below. Then I would belt out my loudest and most realistic Monkey Noise.
We would laugh and laugh at the way the people below would jump and look around.
Eventually, the stress started to wear on me. "Do The Monkey Noise!" "Do It!"
My throat would become tight and I just couldn't do it. It's so hard to do on command! Who do you people think I am?
So The Monkey Noise became a rare breed. I could only whip it out spontaneously on special occasions.
Yesterday, I was hanging out with the Feds. Evan and I were watching Jacque make her bed.
Evan was sitting in my lap and I was singing, as I often do.
"We think his favorite song is the 'Monkeys Jumping on the Bed' song."
She sang the first line and his head whipped around so fast, it bobbled. Then, I swear he did a little dance when she sang the rest of it.
So when she broke into "Old MacDonald" I knew what animal he'd like to hear about!
" . . . and on that farm, he had a--"
"Monkey!" I called out while pumping his fist into the air.
Jacque went on to sing about having a monkey on a farm. "With a . . . "
And I knew this was one of those spontaneous, special moments. I whipped out a custom "Ooh-ooh-ahh!"
It was beautiful! It was realistic! It . . .
Made Evan break out in all-out scrunchie-red-faced screaming.
Well, maybe I'm a bit rusty.