Written by The Scribbler

I’d like to try something a bit different today.  I’m going to share the details of an experience I had recently and I’m going to provide very little commentary for it.

I will say that as I watched the scene unfold, I was repeatedly reminded of Mary Kay culture in general.  Give this piece a perusal, a ponder, and a post, and let’s see if your Spidey sense hits on the same SINterpretations mine did.

I was strolling along our local nature preserve’s wooden boardwalk when I passed a group of third graders.  The kids were clustered on one side of the walkway, pointing at some storm-cracked trees and beyond that, the “I’d Sooner Sit Through an 8-Hour Joanie Loves Chachi Marathon Before I’d Swim in That” Missouri River.  Not far from the group, two chaperones huddled together, speaking in hushed tones.

Suddenly, one bespectacled girl raced to the opposite side of the boardwalk, pointed at a distant tree, and shouted, “Koala bear!  There’s a koala bear RIGHT THERE!”

In the blink of an eye, a rush of kids swarmed to join the girl.  “Where?  Where?” the children buzzed.  “THERE,” the girl stressed, thrusting her finger into the air. It wasn’t long before I heard one child remark, “I CAN see it!”  And more followed.  “Wow, cool!”  I found it odd that the chaperones made no move to correct the giddy gal and her new followers – they were too busy laughing.

As I slalomed my way through the newly-formed Church of the Inconspicuous Koala, I noticed four kids who hadn’t been converted; they were casually leaning against a wooden bench and taking in the commotion with an air of jaded frustration

“There isn’t a koala, Kaylee,” spat a tousle-headed boy.  “Why you gotta lie?”

Nobody knee-deep in the koala hype acknowledged the boy’s comments; they were too busy darting in and out of the throng, goaded by the desperate sincerity in the girl’s voice.  “I can’t believe you don’t see it – look, I’ll show you!”

I wondered why the four unbelievers didn’t go check things out.  After all, they’d never really know for sure if the girl was lying unless they did, right?  It’s possible that their thoughts ran along the lines of, “Man, I’m not wasting my time and energy on something I know is bunk.  Koalas are native to Australia; like one’s actually going to hop a Qantas flight to the Missouri floodplain and dazzle a bunch of Yanks on a field trip!”

It’s like hoping you’ll run across Mr. McFeely at Sturgis – an outrageous idea, yes, but it’s probably not gonna happen.  You try skipping around chirping “Speedy delivery!” to guys in leather while the band “Itchy the Killer” is in the middle of a set.  Enjoy your beatdown.

I wish I could say my outing ended with my having seen a bona-fide koala, but it didn’t.  And I wasn’t disappointed, either, for the forest treated me to a wealth of other things to appreciate:  the gentle overhead dance of tiny yellow butterflies, the sharp chuk-chuk of annoyed squirrels (hey, excuuuse me for walking by your stupid tree!) and a chance meeting with a splendid Tom turkey; tail fanned, chest proud, and every inch the poster bird for Butterball.  I fondly fantasized about Thanksgiving and seeing the old white stoneware platter piled high with glistening turkey meat that’s been in the oven since 6 am.  Oh, the nostalgic warmth my heart (and salivary glands) felt.

Let’s see a lousy fake koala do that!