“I’m worried about the boy,” said Mars. “Running around naked, flapping his little wings, flirting shamelessly, making a spectacle of himself.”
Venus shrugged. “That’s pretty normal behavior up here.”
“Yeah, but he’s 42-years-old, and he hasn’t even reached puberty!”
“All things considered, perhaps that’s for the best,” said Venus.
“Well, he could at least wear some shorts.”
“He wants to ‘Live free or die’— he’s got that New Hampshire thing going.”
“And that pipe he plays,” continued Mars. “Pan told me it’s his, and the kid stole it.”
Venus snorted. “That old goat’s always complaining about something. He should pipe down already.”
“He’s only half goat,” said Mars. “Technically, I mean.”
“Whatever.”
“And that music the boy plays— it makes him excited and kind of blotchy.”
Venus smiled.
“I say it’s alright, Pa, let the boy rock ‘n’ roll
He’s got a mind of his own, and you know he’s got a musical soul
If the music is groovy, you know we really can’t say no.”
Sometimes she channeled The Lovin’ Spoonful using the Space-Time Continuum Song app on her phone. She waved the waitress over and ordered another baklava.
He had a bug hidden under the table. Now he pumped his fat little fist and said, “Yesssss!” It paid to be a mama’s boy.
Of course, dads had their place, too. He thought of the Nymphet magazines he’d found in his father’s golf bag. He’d learned a lot. He was looking forward to firing up his Olympic Torch, assuming he ever reached puberty.
He turned into Circe’s Chamber of Delights. He got carded, of course. That’s what happens when you look about five years old.
He saw Hebe sitting at a table by herself. She was the cupbearer to the major gods and goddess, and Cupid liked the way her cups ranneth over. She smelled like nectar and aroused the bee in his bonnet.
He sidled over to her, took out his pipe and launched into a medley: Fever, Love To Love You Baby, Rump Shaker, Pull Up To The Bumper, and Die A Happy Man. He had the Space-Time Continuum Song app on his phone, too.
Cupid began to glow in a blotchy sort of way. He leaned over and murmured, “Hot 4 U Baby.” He said ‘4’ instead of ‘four,’ and ‘U’ instead of ‘you,’ and left out the comma. He was anticipating rap music, maybe— and memes.
Suddenly the place was on fire. Hebe gave him the cold shoulder, but it was too late.
The Mt. Olympus Fire Company showed up with ten hook-and-ladder chariots, but Circe’s burned to the ground along with ten city blocks. It all happened during Happy Hour. Ironic.
