Second Place Story at Vancouver Story Slam June 2023
This story starts innocently enough. I’m visiting my parents for Mother’s Day or possibly my mom’s birthday.
We have just come from a fancy dinner and are settling in for a nightcap when this haunting encounter happens.
She’s telling us about the friends that had messaged to wish her “happy, whatever day it was that we were celebrating” when she mentions that she had got a weird text from her friend Harriet.
Now, the most important thing to know about Harriet is that Harriet is a chaos demon.
I’m not sure if she intentionally tries to create chaos, but somehow everything Harriet does wreaks havoc on everyone around her.
For example, Harriet recently left her husband of 50 years.
She woke up one morning annoyed by his snoring and decides she can not listen to it for another day, and she leaves him and moves from Edmonton to Cuba.
Harriet lasts about a month living in Cuba because she had never been there before and she actually hates the heat, crowds, spicy food, and she doesn’t speak Spanish.
The other important thing to know is that my mom is a little gullible. She has street smarts. I don’t have to worry about her giving thousands of dollars to a Norwegian prince, but she often times takes Harriet’s stories as truth.
So let’s get back to this night, in May or June, where we’re celebrating some event for my mom, where I ask a question I will probably regret till the day I die,
“What did Harriet have to say?”
“Well,” my mom replied, “she’s very concerned because there are furries in her grandson’s grade 5 classroom.”
I’m convinced I heard her wrong and ask her to clarify, and my mom says again, “Harriet is very concerned because there are furries in her grandson’s classroom,” only this time she adds, “what’s a furry?”
Now, I’m not sure about you, but just about the last conversation I want to have with my 70-year-old parents is about furries.
I decided to take a bit of risk here and ask the internet what to do, and it turns out I’m not the only person who has had this problem.
It turns out Google actually auto-fills,
“What to say to your senior citizen parents when they ask you what a furry is?”
So very carefully, I click on this link making sure I don’t accidentally click on images,
or
the link about what to do if your senior citizen parents are furries.
And read out the PG answer from Google: A furry is a fan of media that features animal characters doing “human” things like walking and talking, or a person who likes to give animals human characteristics.
I’m ready to high five myself, thinking I dodged a bullet when she responds, “Oh, so like me, so I’m a furry?”
Alarm bells go off in my brain, and my inner brain is saying, “Danger, Danger, abort, mission.”
I frantically say, “No, mom, you’re not a furry. Please don’t tell people you’re a furry.”
She says, but, isn’t that me with Otto.
Some important background information: I’m a terrible only child who never gave my parents grandchildren and instead gave them a grandcat, Otto. My mom loves Otto like a grandchild and she sometimes texts Otto,
and because I love my mom, Otto “texts” her back, to tell her about his day.
But I’m now worried that my innocent pandering of my mother is now going to involve her telling people she’s a furry.
Trying to do damage control, I explain that some furries like to dress up in costumes.
This is when my dad joins the conversation and says, I thought they were people who had sex with animals.
So yeah, dad is also a chaos demon.
You can see the wheels going in her head as she thinks:
Nope, I’m not a furry!
What the hell is going on in Harriet’s grandson’s grade 5 classroom??
And I’m thinking: Do I correct this? Is this my escape?
Maybe I’m also a chaos demon, because I decide to correct it.
I very delicately say, well, no, that’s bestiality.
And I’m cursing myself for answering and questioning why I’m still talking.
As I say, well, that’s not quite right, and try to explain that yes, there can be a sexual component to furries, and some people are attracted to other people in animal costumes and they may engage in sexual activities while wearing their costumes.
My mom looks shocked, my dad is laughing, and I’m cursing Harriet, and wondering how I wound up here.
As my mom says, how does that even work, aren’t those costumes onesies?
I die a little inside and thinking I’m going to need a lot more whiskey if I’m going to have to explain the anatomy of how a furry can have a conjugal interaction with another furry, with my 70-year-old parents, when my mom’s phone goes off again and it’s another text message from Harriet.
So, it’s really important to remember that Harriet is a chaos demon here.
It says, “oops, forgot to send the rest,” followed by another message.
It turns out, there are no furries in Harriet’s grandson’s classroom. Harriet was worried that there were “furry creatures in the classroom” because the classroom had a mouse infestation.
This story is a work of fiction inspired by real events or individuals. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. While certain elements of this story may be based on real-life experiences or anecdotes, significant creative license has been taken to adapt and fictionalize these elements for narrative purposes. The views and opinions expressed in this story are those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the official policy or position of any person or entity mentioned in the narrative. All rights reserved. © Erin Reddekopp 2024
Erin Reddekopp 