It was bath time in the treetops, and everyone knew it—except one little monkey who had absolutely no intention of cooperating.
Nubby, a stubborn newborn monkey with wild tufts of fur and a fierce scowl, sat crouched on a tree stump, arms crossed, lips pursed. Mama approached with a fresh leaf bowl of warm water, chirping softly to coax him in. But Nubby wasn’t having it.
“No bath!” his tiny body language screamed. He wriggled, twisted, and flopped onto his back in full protest, letting out shrill, defiant squeals.
Mama reached for him gently, but Nubby launched into a dramatic twist, scrambling away on all fours. He clung to the nearest vine like it was a lifeline, his tail coiled tight, his expression one of utter betrayal.
The morning sun caught the dust clinging to his fur—bits of dried fruit, flecks of leaves, and something suspiciously sticky. Mama sighed. This bath wasn’t optional.
Nubby let out a series of sharp, N-A-S-T-Y cries, as if he were being asked to leap into fire. He screeched with the flair of a jungle opera star, kicking his little feet and flailing his arms wildly. Even the birds fluttered away at the sound.
Mama remained calm, patient as ever. She waited, water still warm, knowing he’d tire himself out. Sure enough, after a final dramatic flop, Nubby peeked over his shoulder. His fur was itchy. His face was sticky. And Mama’s arms looked warm and safe again.
With a reluctant grunt, he shuffled over, still pouting. Mama scooped him gently, humming a soft tune as she dabbed water over his dirty fur.
He grumbled through most of it, of course—but by the end, his eyes were half-closed and his tantrum forgotten.
