A few months back, I mentioned that I really wanted a finger monkey for my birthday.

A what?

A finger monkey. You know, one of these:

ISN’T IT THE MOST ADORABLE AND RIDICULOUS THING EVER?

Well, they can’t get me one because they’re probably illegal and hell, I don’t know if they even exist or not. They’re probably expensive, too. And likely would terrorize our dog and cat and kid.

So I figured I would opt for something else. Maybe a gift certificate for a facial or a tank of gas. Maybe I could sleep in until 7. Something practical.

I woke up this morning to being shuffled off to get a Starbucks Chai, a breakfast at Waffle House, and back home to this.

Look at that beautiful cake! It was tiramisu and to die for! But it didn’t kill me.

I didn’t die until I opened my gift and wondered why the HELL they bought me a monkey charm for my Pandora bracelet.

Then Henry said, “It’s because of your love of the finger monkey. And bananas for the monkey to eat.”

And THEN I DIED!

According to them, this is what went down in the Pandora store:

Pandora girl: Can I help you today?

Henry: Do you have a monkey?

Pandora girl: Sure. Why do you need a monkey?

Henry: Because my mom saw this picture on the internet and it had a pointy finger with a monkey on it.

Pandora girl: OH! I WANT ONE OF THOSE FINGER MONKEYS!

Henry and Jason: ((dying laughing))

Henry: We’re going to need some bananas, too, because her name is Jana Banana and her finger monkey will get hungry.

After I gathered myself and stopped snorting while laughing, I quickly corrected them and let them know it wasn’t a finger monkey, it would really be a wrist monkey.