Today when I got down my building in my Homer Simpson pajamas to buy some fat-free vitamin D-enriched milk, I saw the most extraordinary thing. I saw a guy massaging the knee of a goat. I am not kidding you, children. I honestly did. And to my horror, when I checked the back pocket for my cell phone, it was not there. (The phone, not the pocket. My pajamas have pockets everywhere, just torn in a few places though.) I realized I had missed my only chance to capture this bizarre (even by my standards) spectacle. For a minute or two, I contemplated the possibility of getting the cell phone from my apartment; but by the time I would have gotten back, this goat massager may have had fled. That was some real quick thinking on my feet.
So what was he doing? Was it a ritual or was it a fetish? Any other morning and I would have easily passed this as someone milking the poor creature. Although, goats are worse than furniture in expressing their feelings, I could tell this one did not seem annoyed. On the contrary, it was enjoying the ceremony. (Oh say something, you bad little cow.) I did think of joining in and give the goat’s other knees a go. Or may be ask for a trial from the guy on my own knee. Holy molly, what other animals does the gentleman in question pleasure this way? I waited till the very end to find out whether this was a full body massage.
But while this erotic exhibition was going on, the fact that fat-free vitamin-D enriched milk was rare in my vicinity completely slipped my mind. And that’s how I missed today’s dose of Vitamin D.
Not a day goes when my eyes get hooked by men who stare at goats. Goats with lackluster knees. By the way, you would have been wondering all along, ‘What on earth was the author of this post doing in a land where men massage goats’ knees?’
God, I just wanted some milk.