Sunday, November 27, 2011

The Password

"I'm afraid you've got William Shatner stuck inside you."

Before bed last night to calm my daughter down we broke out the doctor's kit and treated each other for various ailments. Mostly having animals and fruit stuck inside each other. She obviously had the obligatory octopus problem. She also self-diagnosed herself as having a giant pickle and our own dog inside her. Unpleasant moments I can assure you. So I prepared a vaccination shot of Tickle Pickle Juice and Woof Woof Away and injected it directly into her bellybutton. After she diagnosed my foot with a headache (and with dirty ears after looking through her ear scope) she set to wailing on it with her reflex hammer like Kathy Bates in Misery. Unsurprisingly it actually started to feel an actual ache. So I went back to suggesting that various things were stuck inside her. Before I'd run out of ideas we'd been through a donkey, a book about spinach, Santa's carrot (she suggested that one - I'm not that happy with the notion of it myself) and William Shatner. Thankfully she calmed down after that.

She was so wound up because prior to that we apparently played a game called, The Password. Which involved her and her brother covering me in a blanket , repeatedly jumping on me and randomly farting - also known as, "saying the password." For the sake of detail I'd point out that both my kids and my wife knew the password quite well (and my wife wasn't even playing) whereas I seemed unable to come up with it. My son demanded that I cover myself with the all-blue blanket and pretend to be a lake, whereas my daughter demanded I use the other South American blanket and pretend to be Plaid Mountain. Anyway during the whole smothering/human sandwich thing my son did a thing had does sometimes and that was a desperate attempt to show affection. Basically he tries to lie on top of your head/neck area and cuddle as closely as possible whilst making out with a different part of your face. It's equal parts unpleasant and loving at the same time. If he didn't get completely covered in a blanket and at least have a go at licking my cheek he would get slightly annoyed and desperate. Which just motivated his sister even more to encourage him with her new name - that being "King Of The Babies." I tried to correct her and point out that's probably someone like Willis McGahee but she shrugged that off.

And my daughter was still psycho-wound up from before that from playing this game.


So one of those cup and ball games where you press a trigger and it fires a ping pong ball and you or someone else has to catch it. She was particularly giddy because - as you can see - it's a snowman. Meaning that because it's after Thanksgiving now I've started to leak out the Christmas guff. So far three snow globes (one small one and two massive ones) and these things. And my daughter insists on having Christmas music on now if we are in the car. Add she did meet Santa the other day (this would be him telling her to put one carrot on the roof by the way).


So all in all she's giddy as a goose. All we need know is for the snow to actually start chucking it down and all will be well. We've only really had two (maybe three?) snow periods so far. And only one we were driving through could be thought of as a blizzard of some kind. Actually my daughter and I use that opportunity to pretend we are, "stuck inside a lizard." It seems far more interesting to one minute be driving along and the next to find yourself magically transformed into the body of a lizard.

Right - I'm off to limber up for Thanksgiving Two: The Quickening. We aren't having Thanksgiving with anyone - but just cooking the whole meal for ourselves. This way we guarantee ourselves leftovers. We didn't get any because we visited someone else. This will also probably mark my last day of The Fattening as well. I just can't be bothered this year. That might sound daft but it's true. I had plummeted down to an oddly svelte 153 pounds. And had then, through hard work and fistfuls of chocolate, managed to climb up to a respectable 163 pounds. But unlike most Winters I just don't feel any interest in gorging on anything (scotch eggs aside obviously). Normally I'd be begging my wife to make gluten-free cakes drenched in custard. Or worse - acres of no-bake chocolate oatmeal cookies (we call that Splodge). But I just have the desire at all. So I guess I'll just go back to eating apples and whatnot and see just how fit I can get in the house this Winter. Maybe I'll even use the weights that everyone leaves in the corner untouched for years.

After this weekend obviously. I've got turkey skin and egg nog to munch.

2 comments:

  1. Mate, 163 pounds is not portly. That's barely 11 stone, about my weight. Unless you is 5 foot 3. Then you be festively plump instead.

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  2. Oh I'm not fat at 5 foot 8. I just like being runner-thin.

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