This is not monkeying around–I am an ape. And, at that, it may, indeed, be the case that I am aping you and your baby face, but it may also simply be that I am a baby *with* a face.

Oh, no, no, no–I never wear clothes. Yes, I understand other beings deck out in fabric attire with brummagem accessories and feel quite fantastic about their presentation. Such a scene works not for me, though, as snags and sags are not conducive to swinging for sunny spots–it is supposed.

When vermiculate paths between trunks and ropes have dizzied my head and tired limbs, a restful pause is taken until hands and feet are ready to appease new whims.

Thoughts are, now, turning towards procuring nourishment for this fuzzy tum. Fruits and bugs sound delish for my grumbling appetite, though no floral garnishes are necessary for this anthophobia-suffering beast. Ants *in* fruit, on the other mitt, even–if not especially–fearful ones, sounds, alas, like a most ideal feast. ; )