Wednesday, December 28, 2011

Raingirl and The Beefcake.

Thanks a lot Honey, now I have to do all that counting.

My daughter spent a lot of time doing crafts yesterday. She had received quite a few this Christmas, in one form or another. In the morning she decorated four picture frames with stars, felt pen and glitter glue. One of the characters on a picture frame was a plump playful penguin, and I'm glad to say she blackened it's face out with felt pen like a serial killer scratching out the face of girl in a High School year book. After that she went on to writing her and my name in a Disney Princess Friends book that someone gave her. It is vile, horrid and ironically casts random females from Disney movies in the worst possible light. It lumps Snow White and Ariel in there alongside four actual Princess characters. My wife tells me that the inherent thick slab of irony is that in the movie the Princesses are in the emphasize goodness and strong character - caring and love. And yet in this book all they talk about is how you're only worthwhile if you have fantastic hair and diamonds so that you can get a Prince. Because if you don't have a certain specific type of perfect clothes and hair then you will never get a man - the ultimate goal of life - and you will die alone, ugly and crippled from persistent self-abuse.

Something like that anyway. Really - it isn't far off. Also chucked in to the craft pile (aside from pom poms and felt sticker things that Santa plopped on her) was a mosaic dog-thing that you had to attach all the stickers too by number. Which she did and then declared, "there are thirty-eight gold pieces" and then carried on with her day. Not me though - oh no. I can't let that slide - now I have to actually count the frigging things just in case she's displaying Rainman qualities and is magic. Of course in true Bad Parent fashion I started counting them and then got lost so had to start again. After doing this again because my son was running feral around the house with a screwdriver and roll of packaging tape I've yet to go back and confirm whether my daughter is a witch.

I myself had a torrid time of it in the middle of the day yesterday. One of the gifts I received from family were a few bags of homemade beef jerky. Now I may be a svelte athletic hot example to the other males I encounter in my life, but deep down inside I have a pudgy man inside me. Not fat or anything that could get me onot a reality show based on aesthetic alone. But the sort of person who would think that as there is half a tub of ice cream left maybe I could get away with eating all of it if I bought another one in that exact flavor and eat it to the same emptiness that this one is. Or - in a more recent example - if I eat all of this bag of beef jerky then maybe it will be awesome and I won't have to cook myself any food. The kids can eat whatever I drop and the dog doesn't get. Fast forward to noon when I was doubled up on the floor trying not to puke again while my daughter piled blankets on me. She had asked me what I was doing and for some reason I told her I was pretending to be a cake. Presumably a dried-beef cake. She thought I was method-acting the bottom layer of this cake and kept chucking on different blankets to pretend to decorate me. I could see she was impressed that I would remain absolutely still (and strangely grey) for long periods only to rapidly jump up and run to the bathroom at break-neck speed. You know - like a cake would.

Anyhoo - I lay on the ground experiencing my own self-imposed bovine death-twitch until my wife called on the phone and said, "that right there is the very definition of gluttony." Which while true (and completely unhelpful) is hard to take from someone who will eat a bag of sour candy until it actually starts to burn holes in her tongue and gums. It didn't stop me either at 5.30pm from reaching into the now new bag of jerky for another dried scab of beef. But with my wife's disapproving look I opted to give it to the dog. He'll probably find the bag and steal them all anyway so I should be commended for saving time.

I suppose I should go count those gold mosaic pieces.

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