I insisted that a pirate’s go-to expression for everything from rage, joy, happiness, surprise and outrage was “Arrggggh!” followed by the obligatory “shiver me timbers…” or “where the hell’s my parrot?”… “polish my hook, ship wench” or “pass me an orange, I’m gettin’ the scurvy”. You know, silly things pirates say?
I was wrong, he informed me.
Pirates say “Arrrrrrrr.” Not, “Arrrghhh”.
Rather than argue with him, I let it go. Truth be told, I secretly harbored resentment because I knew deep down in my aging heart that I was right and he was wrong. I mean, I’m the adult. By all rights, I should be smarter.
Then I read Fifty Shades of Gray [which, I admit, automatically dumbed me down] and, to my horror, discovered that the author used the word “arrrghhh” when describing the pain of virginal sex.
So, chalk one up for the four-year-old.
But that’s not what this is about.
This is about the joy of being surprised.
As in finding pirate-worthy booty in my mailbox.
Generally, the only things I find in my standard issue please-not-another-Spanx-catalog- metal-box-on-a-pole are highway-robbery utility bills, stalker letters from AARP and a cozy little nest of spiders that I don’t have the heart to evict.
Until yesterday when it all changed.
What’s when my otherwise mundane mail receptacle contained a beautiful surprise! A tiny packaged wrapped neatly in a bubble-protected envelope.
Even the spiders watched in deference as I gazed upon this unexpected curiosity.
I plucked it ever so gently from the box, scurried inside and drew the blinds. I carefully sliced one end of the envelope and let the contents slip out. Ahhhhh! A stunning, gossamer bag with a satin ribbon.
Golden earrings befitting a plundered galleon!
“I have laid eyes on the likes of these magnificent baubles before”, I whisper to myself. “On the delicate lobes of a beloved.”
Thank you, my friend, for reminding me that no matter how old I get, the child in me is still alive and well!