I predict a riot

While cleaning up tonight, I found a single, solitary monkey from Pea's Barrel of Monkeys, sitting alone in her play area downstairs.

The actual barrel, as well as the rest of the monkeys, were upstairs in our bedroom, in the emergency toy stash we keep for those Saturday and Sunday mornings when Pea wakes up just a little too early (read every weekend).

On my way upstairs, I brought the lone monkey with me to put away in the barrel where he belongs.  As I tossed him in and closed the lid on the barrel, a vision ran through my mind... I pictured all of the monkeys rejoicing at the sight of their long-lost monkey cousin returning to the barrel from whence he came.  Tears of joy flowed down monkey cheeks.  Monkey prayers answered at last.  Perhaps, monkey lovers reunited?  

Then, and I must emphasize that I actually thought this, I wondered if perhaps one of the monkeys was angered by the sudden return of his plastic yellow counterpart.  A love triangle re-engaged?  A rivalry renewed?  

So then, naturally, my mind wandered to that aggressive reunion between former enemies... at best an uncomfortable greeting... at worst, little plastic monkeys hurling little plastic feces at one another in a show of dominance, with all kinds of other innocent monkeys running for cover from flying monkey plops.  Was I responsible for monkey armageddon within that barrel?  

Then, I thought, what the hell is wrong with me?  Inanimate plastic monkeys causing me undue stress and anxiety?

Stupid plastic monkeys.