The Horrible, Awful Story of How My Children Caged Me – Nic Cage, That Is

The Horrible, Awful Story of How My Children Caged Me – Nic Cage, That Is March 7, 2014

I still remember – I say this in the interest of full disclosure – I still remember the wicked glee I felt as I huddled in a pantry cupboard and stifled giggles as I waited for my poor, unsuspecting grandmother to pass. I – to my everlasting shame – jumped out at a key moment and shrilled – unoriginally – “Boo!”

In my memory, my dear saintly Nonny was carrying a large bowl of popcorn, or a basket of dried beans, or perhaps an opened box of uncooked pasta, the contents of which soared as she jumped like a lamb in springtime. The popcorn or beans or pasta clattered around us like hilarious rain as I choked with laughter.

This was not the limit of my delinquency. I once put a tablespoon of salt smack-dab in the center of my father’s avocado sandwich. I programmed my grandparents’ new-fangled TV to shut off two minutes into The Nightly News with Dan Rather.

I also failed to warn my grandparents when they set off on a rare cinema trip to see The Crying Game because “it has some nice shots of Ireland.” To be fair, however, that was more the universe conspiring against them than me.

I admit with shame I was a degenerate. My hands are not clean. I am not innocent.

And yet, I can not believe that any misdeed in my past merits the amount of Caging my children have brought into my life.

It started with the silverware drawer.

Imagine reaching for a spoon to stir your morning coffee, bleary-eyed, unprepared, and encountering that…that…face

And it didn’t stop there.

Embedded in the paper towels:

Lurking next to the tea:

I found Nick Cage on my pillow. In my drawers. When I least expected it, he’d pop up.

As you can imagine, I was getting pretty jumpy. Gone were the days I could casually open a cabinet or the refrigerator, trusting there were good things inside. I began inspecting a room slowly, as one gingerly tests a stove to see if it’s hot. I stopped looking in mirrors, afraid to see him over my shoulder, behind me, in the shadows.

Shouting “boo” is a shameful thing, and I regret it deeply, but a Caged life is a hellish life.

Then they infested my computer.

The New York Times
Even my own site, Patheos Entertainment

Nonny, wherever you are, I am sorry. I had no idea.

To my children: Revenge will be sweet.

Does anyone have any leads on a device that will project a life-sized Nic Cage hologram? Like, say, inside a closet?

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  • Lars

    Rebecca, you’re missing all the Nic Cage fun at Unfundamentalist Christians (see ‘Sink or Swim’)!! I’m thoroughly impressed that your kids are such big fans, as am I, of “Vampire’s Kiss”!