Culture, Humor

I Want To Hold Your Hand (While I Sleep)

As if sea otters weren’t adorable enough, it turns out they hold hands while they sleep.  According to Wikipedia, “sea otters tend to rest together in single-sex groups called rafts. A raft typically contains 10 to 100 animals, with male rafts being larger than female ones. The largest raft ever seen contained over 2000 sea otters.”  I just got a cavity.  Too sweet.

How is that even possible?  I don’t mean the buoyancy or the fact that they have no blubber, and their thick fur keeps them warm.  What I mean is–how can anyone sleep touching someone else?  I know dog owners who let their dogs sleep not only in their bedroom (where the humans go), but on or even IN their beds.  I’m sure some of you needy people who like animals better than people do this, don’t you?  And you don’t think about how their little paws walk around in feces in the back yard?  Don’t tell me your dog’s nasty genital-licking tongue is cleaner than my toilet.  Just do not.

And you people who spoon each other–one of you doesn’t really enjoy that.  Usually the man.  He does that to appease you.  Didn’t you see the Friends episode where Ross teaches Chandler the “hug ‘n’ roll”?

Last Sunday at church, they discussed Dr. Gary Smalley’s personality type test.  Each of us falls into one of these categories, possibly two: a lion, an otter, a golden retriever, or a beaver.  Evidently, a fellow blogger already posted their traits on his blog many, many moons ago, so you can find out more info at:

The bottom line is that otters are outgoing and talkative, but unproductive and unstable.  I would think any proficient writers would not be otters, or a post would rarely get published.  Who needs to blog when you look like this?

Oh, my gosh, it doesn’t even look real.  But I still wouldn’t hold its paw while I slept.  I don’t even touch my husband’s paw while he sleeps.  We have a glorious dividing line down the middle of our king-sized bed, with a strict code of conduct that entails neither shall cross the line unless to give a hearty shove to stop snoring, or to advise the other to grab the shot gun and start pouring bullets into intruders.

Another reason I could not be an otter is the violent mating.  Sadistic male otters bite the female’s nose and often hold her underwater while getting busy, like some sick David Carradine foreplay gone wrong.  Eventually, the wear and tear on her nose leads to permanent scarring, which leads less playful, more modest otters to identify her as easy.  It’s like a scarlet letter for marine mammals.

That otter is to’ up from the flo’ up.   Somebody, fetch her some Neosporin before they start yelling, “Get thee to a nunnery!”

Otters can be so cruel.

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