Do You Ever Feel Like Biting an Animal?

I do. My teeth ache with the desire to bite when I gaze into an especially cute furry face. Is that wrong? To want to bite a cute furry face with its sweet pink nose and its adorable fat cheeks?



Of course, it's wrong. It's sick is what it is. But this pathological desire has haunted me since childhood -- as a child, whenever I felt my teeth tingling while looking into the eyes of my trusting kitties, my loyal doggies, my twitchy, retarded teddy bear hamsters, I would immediately reach for something rubbery to sink my teeth into, like a Barbie leg or some Bubblicious bubble gum, and just bite, man. Just gnaw like the dickens.



Unfortunately, I no longer have Barbie legs handy, and since I learned that Bubblicious is made with spider eggs, I don't indulge anymore, so nowadays, I just clench my teeth together real tight. My mouth waters something awful, too, and this horrible squeal erupts from my throat, a squeal of love and hunger and insanity.



How freaking Cro-Magnon am I, anyway?



So, the reason I brought this up is that last night, my youngest daughter finally got her life's wish and received a hamster for one of her birthday presents. Her father and I dillydallied for ages about this acquisition because really, when a family of six already lives with a mentally disturbed cat and a hissy little bitch of a bearded dragon in a small ranch home, there's no need for one more pooping, stinking, "oh, mom will take care of it" mouth to feed in the household, is there?



But we relented, and thus came Kendra.



Oh, my dear, motherless lord. The minute I set eyes upon Kendra, sweet little Kendra of the fat ass and big ears, tasty Kendra of the cutest face ever created, the familiar tingling hit my teeth quicker than you could say perverted sicko!



And to make matters worse, Kendra was riding along in her spiffy pink sports car, just gliding along the floor, her tiny legs spinning madly, fat ass wiggling away with the effort...I swear to Christ I grabbed my daughter's Bratz doll and chewed its fucking arm off.



Well, not really. That's just fantasy. But I did clench my teeth, and I did salivate, and yes, I did indeed squeal, much to the dismay of my children, the horror of my husband. I squealed and squealed and squealed, said things like, "Look at the cutie weenie! Oh, mommy loves the tweet tweeter poop! Squeeeeech! Squeeeeeal!"



I was out of control. Dangerously so.



Luckily, my husband had the presence of mind to slap me upside the head or I might just have popped that delicious critter in my mouth, you know? Thank God for Lar.