Wednesday, October 26, 2011

Indiana Jones Is Inside Me

"This is what I look like without any skin Daddy."

I decided not to turn around right away for that this morning. After all - what can that mean? It has to be the sort of thing a serial killer says. And seeing as we'd had such a lovely innocent morning I wasn't expecting that. That's more of a nine am sort of thing. My wife had zoomed off to work early leaving my kids to inevitably wake up as soon as they hear her engine start up. I'd gone upstairs and had a quick lie down and a cuddle. Somehow - and I'm really not sure how - it had turned into a disco. One minute I'm lying down showing my kids how to ride an upside down invisible unicycle, and the next they are slam-dancing into me. Quite frankly it can't be helped. My daughter had dragged her MP3 player into the bed and was playing Biscuits and Groovy at full blast. If your internal groove-gravy doesn't start bubbling to that song you are dead inside.

After that we headed out early to buy a few things. I'd run out of paper towels. And chocolate. So obviously we left before 8am. While driving to the store I tried to pry some information as to what my daugter got up to yesterday at school. She wont tell me much. They are learning about things with the letter A. She told me yesterday that the snack they had was, "candy and goldfish." That is pretty weak and I was not buying it. After a little probing today she said it was some weird plastic square cheese. Yep that's right - a slice of American cheese. But also some candy and a small handful of goldfish. Out of everything beginning with A that's what they got on day 2. Frankly the teacher must have been phoning it in.

The rest of this morning I've been trying not to fan the flames of the one and only fanboy obsession I've had in years. I am a small, very white English man. And yet for reasons that I cannot understand I am very eager to buy some cowboy boots. Yes, cowboy boots. Now obviously I'm aware that I'm probably not the sort of person who should be wearing cowboy boots. Not that I think they are manly or anything like that. But I don't think they are aimed at me. And don;t think I buy stuff. I don't care about anything. I have no idea why anyone rushes out to buy iphones or flat screen TVs or tools. I don't care about anything like that. But I want some boots and am willing to pay good money. But let's just highlight a few facts (both for and against) -:

1) I am not a cowboy.
2) I live in New York state. While possibly the gayest state in the Union, I do live in one of the least gay parts of it.
3) I simply can't see how I - even as an English stay-at-home Dad who drives a minivan - can look any sillier than the thousands of American men who insist on wearing Mom-jeans and white trainers all the time. Everyone looks like Jerry Seinfeld stuck in 1983. I only wear shoes and sandals. I dislike sneakers with a passion and wear hiking boots during the Spring when I can bust out the shorts.
4) I usually buy really awesome shoes, but I do own a pair of round pastie-looking things that drew me some criticism. For example I posted a photo of what I thought might be a human bone that I found in my backyard on an Expat forum. Within a minute someone accused me of wearing orthopedic shoes. Someone even sent me a private message that simply stated, "even your feet are spackers."
5) I really really like eating horse meat. This would seem somewhat anathema to cowboyness.
6) I love PBR bull riding.
7) Modern country music is stupid. Apart from the odd Toby Keith (or as he's known in my house, "Kobi Beef") song I'm having none of it. Give me the real Americana stuff. Unless they're singing about grain elevators and distilling their own whisky I'm not interested.
8) I am probably not what one would consider cool. Like this -:

Now he's cool. Basically I am very aware that if someone like me buys cowboy boots then they might actually be a twat. I even asked a group of brutally honest people if that's the case. "They" being expats on an online forum - you will not find a group of more honest, sharp, empathetic, caring nutcases anywhere. The jury was split but plenty of them buy boots of all kinds. Leading me to confess that I had been considering buying the same boots Indiana Jones wears. And considering I really wanted to be Indiana Jones (and I bought a similar hat in the Spring - which would be the one in the previous post) I figured actually dressing up like him would make me some sort of cosplay mega-twat. So after a recommendation I now want these instead -:

I showed my daughter. She said, "are they mudboots for Mommy?" Bah. I told her they were for me and she asked, "but why would you want to wear Mommy's mudboots? You're a man, Daddy..."

Anyway, back to my skinless daughter. When I eventually turned around to check she showed me a tiny little dot on the palm of her hand. She had a splinter there the other day that I heroically removed with tweezers. She now somewhat believes that all sorts of things might try and get into her body if they find out she has a hole. She's particularly weary of bees and snow getting in there.

Yep - still kind of serial killer.

No comments:

Post a Comment