I have written previously in this esteemed Blog about the copious number of car seats, from infant seats to convertible seats to booster seats, that reside in my living room, garage, attic, son’s closet and likely other places I don’t know about. This situation is generally tolerable. It allows me to keep my useless items around the house without fear of reprisal or more than the ordinary amount of nagging. Before you become irritated at the implication that car seats might be “useless,” let me clarify. Of course the seats themselves are not inherently useless. They are, in fact, essential for the safe transport of small humans in motor vehicles. They are useless in the sense that we have no use for most of them for our own small humans, as the older has outgrown them completely and the younger only needs the booster variety. The only one in the family who could fit into most of these things is the dog, and trying to put her into one would probably really piss her off, and as retaliation she might pee on the carpet. At least that used to be the case.
It is the case no longer. Not content to have car seats without something to put in them, my wife, who doubles as one of your gracious Blog hostesses, has seen fit to purchase inanimate replicas of small humans that some people refer to as dolls. Some of the dolls have no resemblance to flesh and blood living humans. Their only remarkable attribute is that the dog attempts to eat them, for reasons unknown to the others in the family. The dog also eats her own poop. Some mysteries are beyond our ability to explain. The most
recent addition to our family of fake humans, however, is quite life-like. It has piercing baby blue eyes, and a sort of a smirk that suggests it knows how you will die. Before you become irritated at my referring to a real, fake baby human being as “it,” let me clarify. I have not investigated the gender of the intruder, and while it wears blue clothes I prefer not to rely on gender stereotypes based on an individual’s fashion selections. Plenty of real human females I know wear blue; that does not make me assume they are actually men.
Not being a fan of horror movies, I have not seen any of the Chuckie/Bride of Chuckie franchise of movies. This is probably a good
thing, because having done so might make having the new addition to the household even more unsettling. This is so because the baby recently became armed with a kitchen knife. It is my belief that my wife, your gracious Blog hostess, who apparently also is slightly unbalanced, put the knife in the baby’s cold hand as some sort of hoax, but one cannot be sure.
We have a zombie in the backyard named Mort. You should get one; he’s really quite amusing. Mort appears to be climbing out of the ground, though on closer inspection one realizes that Mort is not a complete body, but only head, arms and chest. Mort is not particularly frightening, unless your husband puts Mort right inside the bathroom door to get you back for putting him in the office closet and then asking you to please go get an envelope, even if your husband is so tall that he didn’t even notice Mort was in the office closet in the first place. In the case of the bathroom placement, Mort is frightening, and, based on real life events, after screaming you will likely berate your husband with a string of expletives as he attempts, in vain, to simultaneously cover your children’s ears and flee the premises. In my defense, Mort was in the bathroom, and according to my wife it scared the poop out of her, so I apparently performed a valuable service. I received not even so much as a thank you. Ingrate.
But mere height does not allow one to overlook the homicidal armed human baby replica doll thing in the guestroom (yes, we have a guestroom and live in Las Vegas, no, you can’t use it, and you probably wouldn’t want to because we live far away from the Strip, my cycling shoes are in there and I’d have to wake you up pretty early in the morning to come in and get them, and there’s a homicidal armed human baby replica doll thing in it). The only fact that allows a peaceful night’s sleep is that it is a newborn, so should not be able to (i) grip the knife, (ii) walk with the knife, (iii) crawl with the knife, (iv) make any sort of stabbing motion, (v) articulate a taunt or threat, or (vi) hold its head up to see where you are. Perhaps I’ll lock the knives up just in case. And hopefully the wife doesn’t get a fake toddler or, and this would be really bad, a teenager. She knows not to even suggest getting a lawn gnome. That’s grounds for divorce.