MY HARRY APE

I wish Ann Landers were still alive.

I would write to her about my "separation anxiety." I know she would write something back. Maybe even put my letter in her daily column. Because my "separation anxiety" is very unique -- and terrifying.

I would tell her that, no, I'm not afraid of leaving home or anything like that.

No, I fear that my husband has never separated far enough from the kingdom of the apes.

Harold has hair all over his body. His head, his chest, his back, his legs, his feet -- everywhere. When he gets out of the shower, he doesn't towel off like a normal human being. First, he shakes all over like a bear climbing out of a river filled with spawning salmon. (The wallpaper in the bathroom is beginning to peel.)

I've suggested that he get an all-body wax job so he could look more like Tom Cruise, but he just laughs, shaking dandruff out of his shaggy head. (He does that a lot, which is why I have to vacuum so often.)

Even my little boy notices. When we went to the zoo and watched "Monkey Island," Junior laughed at the monkeys and announced that "they scratch just like daddy."

But now I'm reading about some scientific studies using DNA which say that man and chimps separated 10 million years ago and then came together briefly four million years later and intermarried with each other. (I felt like retching. What were those human mothers thinking?)

The study says this inter-mating of humans and chimps produced a hybrid species that was part human and part ape and had the characteristics of both species. (Harold is a combination of ape hair and near-human speech.)

Then the study says that the two species separated and went their separate ways, which was a great relief to me. (To think that I've been worried sick all spring about that Hell's Angel my daughter's running around with.)

But what if the studies are wrong?

What if some of the chimps and humans kept living in sin long after the rest had gone their separate ways? What if my hairy Harold's chimp ancestors lived only a hundred and fifty years ago? What if my child's great-grandmother has other great-grandchildren living on Monkey Island? (There were two or three who scratched just like Harold.) What if I'm married to one of the last remaining hairy apes? What will they say at the PTA? Will we still get Social Security?

Harold likes to work with tools and does all kinds of home improvement jobs. He even plans a year in advance, buying tools this year for next year's projects. He has an enormous number of tools in storage. (Actually, Harold has more tools than Home Depot.)

Now I read that there's a new study which says that bonobos and orangutans like to plan work ahead of time and seek out tools well in advance of later projects. (Ann Landers, I'm really terrified now. This orangutan behavior sounds just like my Harold. And we have a neighbor who called Harold a big bozo, which sounds a lot like bonobo to me.)

Harold is out in back, building our son a huge tree house. Harold says he really likes working in that big oak tree. (This really scares me. I Googled "orangutan" and found that orangutans live in trees. They make umbrellas out of large leaves to keep the rain off and drink out of cups made from smaller leaves. If Harold comes down from that oak tree with a cup made out of leaves, I am going to scream.)

Now there's a new study that says chimps can actually talk to each other by varying the order of unintelligible sounds. This really bothers me because it sounds like Harold and his buddies watching a pro football game with their mouths full of beer and chips. (Like orangutans, you can't understand them, but they can understand each other.)

Harold likes to bellow for a beer. Male orangutans like to bellow for sex. (So there may be some differences .... but ... still...)

What if my Harold is really a hybrid hairy ape?

Ann, you usually advise counseling.

But do I take him to a psychiatrist or a veterinarian?

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