“Carla Gillock forgot her monkeys”. So stated the note that was sitting on the counter when I arrived at work yesterday. Carla, a customer, had apparently bought several sheets of monkey stickers, but they hadn’t quite made it into her bag. The abandoned monkeys were sitting forlornly next to the note. Working in a predominately children’s bookstore is sometimes like living in a parallel universe. You find yourself saying — and hearing people say — things that you would never hear in real life. But there you are, in real life, listening to people ask whether you have a book about “the knufflebunny”, “the fart powder book”, or “that chicka chicka book”. And you often hear people talk about our stuffed animals as if they were, somewhat lazy, employees. “Where has Olivia gotten herself off to?” “Has anyone seen Clifford?” “Pigeon needs to be replaced.” I have to laugh sometimes because these conversations are always so serious. This isn’t some wise-cracking, middle-school kid trying to get a rise. Grandma, list in hand, genuinely wants to know where to find “Walter, the Farting Dog”, and dad doesn’t betray even the slightest twinkle in his eye when he asks if we have the “poopy pants” series. So thanks, kids, for living in a world that is imaginative, creative, and humorous. And thanks for letting us visit every once in a while. It’s a hoot working in a place where it is perfectly acceptable to give directions like, “over there, under the dragons” or have lengthy discussions about Scaredy Squirrel, Reginald von Hoobie Doobie, and Mr. Magnolia, with only one boot. Oh, and Carla, please come get your monkeys.