We've been playing Spillage In The Village this morning. It's been cacking it down with rain since we got up. And the wind knocked a cup of water all over my daughter's kitchen chair. Obviously I cried out, "Oh no! There's been a spillage in the village!" in an absurdly dramatic fashion. My daughter - prompted by a book about a magical snowman that doesn't ever melt (therefore can do stuff like go to the beach, enjoy 4th of July fireworks, and Halloween) decided that maybe he'd been sitting in her chair eating breakfast. She also decided it was Christmas today. She tried to remember some Christmas songs to sing to celebrate. Fearful she'd remember that cursed bloody hippo song I quickly offered It's Beginning To Look A lot Like Christmas - which she claimed to have never heard of. Then she snapped out of the absurdity of it being Christmas because obviously it's actually Halloween right now. So she demanded Halloween songs. The first thing that my corrupt and warped brain did was suggest changing the last song to, "It's beginning to smell a lot like syphillis" purely on the grounds that it would be terrifying if true. I shook that idea off and plumped for the only other song that came to mind. Which was the spankingly good Fantomas version of Ronald Stein's Spider Baby (the excellent original 1964 cult movie is in the public domain so you can watch the whole thing on Youtube). I sang a few bars of it and she quickly decided that it wasn't working and said we should go back to the idea of the snowman melting on her chair. Stinging criticism there.
I quickly remarked that Mr. Snowman must have decided to eat oatmeal. Except for some reason the magic had now worn off - and he melted. It's certainly a nicer notion than my first concern - which was someone/something had randomly urinated in the kitchen. Even after she blamed the snowman I still slightly suspected that he'd pissed himself. Actually speaking of it - the last page of that book is supposed to be cutesy and nice. But instead it depicts something confusing and illogical to me. Here -:
If you are going to illustrate a story in which a snowman is anthropomorphized into a living entity with a body, should you really then also show another character holding what appears to be one of his ample testicles aloft? "Look! I bit off one of your massive snow!!" yelled the incredibly simple-looking boy - who clearly cracked out a few teeth gnawing it off.
Anyhoo - that gave us all the impetus to then create a weak storyline for why I was wrapped in a blue blanket while my children pummeled me on the living room floor. That being that I was a spillage and they were superhero sponge-people that control the spill by leaping onto it violently. After a very short game of that I tried to convince them both to do something else to burn off some energy. My son wanted to dance/fight. But my daughter wanted to make pictures with some cupcake stickers she has. When we dressed up and invited her to join in she said no. After awhile even my son became quite bored with the whole thing and sauntered off to play trains. I got on with the dishes and cleaning up. About five minutes later my daughter surprised me with her camera. She told me I looked ridiculous. It was only at that point that I realized I was still dressed for dancing.
Before the rain swept in this morning my next door neighbor once again offered me a half-share of the 40 free Subway sandwich rolls he picks up daily. He tells me that the store isn't permitted to use anything that was baked the day before - so he goes over there and gets given them for free. Except 40 hoagie rolls are way too many for him to eat (and he's a scrawny bugger too so clearly his appetite isn't absurd) so he spends large parts of his day figuring out who he can give them to. He tells me the Subway thing every week or so - but without any recollection of ever telling me before. Each time I decline and tell him that I don't eat wheat so it's a dead-loss on me. I then add that the stench of Subway (you know exactly what I'm talking about) is so off putting that my wife can't set foot in the place. The comedian Pete Holmes ("you're going to get violated by a Yeti," being a choice quote of his) does a great bit about Subway and how all of the ingredients taste identical - and how the flavor is whatever that smell is that permeates everything. He doesn't name that odor but I instantly thought I knew what it was when I first encountered it. Therefore I have only ever once entered a Subway sandwich shop. Frankly anything that smells that much like a yeast infection is not going in my mouth.
Outside of that all I've been trying to avoid the seemingly endless barrage of sex this morning. I flicked the news on this morning and one of the appalling morning talk shows was doing that mock-outrage thing about how Olympic coverage of the beach volleyball involved a lot of closeups of women's arses. They did that thing where they said it was entirely inappropriate and just a crass, cheap method of getting ratings. Obviously they said this whilst showing close-ups of women's arses over and over again. Which is almost a kind of shame-filled porn in itself where sexual images are accompanied by a woman slowly repeating, "you should be ashamed of yourself..." over it. Obviously my daughter asked why there were lots of bum cheeks on television. Then in the car on the way to the thrift store (nowt worth mentioning) someone on the radio was bleating on about some female military members who took photos of themselves breastfeeding in uniform and posted them proudly on Facebook (which turns out was a story 6 weeks ago - so clearly they're rehashing it for ratings in their own way). The radio host had gone for the angle that breastfeeding women in uniform is ridiculously hot - and he could prove it because he'd filtered his calls to air a lot of creepy-sounding old blokes saying that they thought the women should be ashamed of sullying the uniform by making them wank about them. A quick glance in the rear view mirror and I had that pang where you think that it's probably inappropriate - but mostly that you don't want ot have to explain anything weird right now.
Then when I got home I checked some messages online. Whilst wandering through Facebook notifications my daughter came and sat up on my knee whilst she looked through some photos she'd taken on her camera. A few moments later she asked me what the large, vibrant, pink thing was in a photo of a friend of mine that had appeared on the screen. It's actually just a photo of someone catching up with a friend whilst having a drink and a slice of cake in a public place. All rather innocent. But for some inexplicable reason there's an enormous dildo on the table as well. I'd forgotten that from when it originally popped up the day before so had innocently clicked on the notification. I attempted to think of something very quickly to fob my daughter off with. But annoyingly the only words that jumped out from the Facebook page were, "dildo" and, "rabbit." Sadly I plumped for the second one. Which obviously led to a lot of follow up questions about how it didn't look like a rabbit - all while I quickly closed the entire browser in abject shame and discomfort. I got away with that one by quickly asking if she wanted bread with Nutella on it. No way I wanted to get into a discussion about female pleasure-pipes - especially ones spuriously named after a small mammal that - ironically - is often shown to be munching on large phallic-shaped vegetables. And not just because my daughter is five thereby making the whole thing strange. And not because it's usually not a father's place to discuss the history and cultural relevance of various vibrator's with his children. But no - it's because I always feel compelled to ignore the obvious and make a tangential point about any subject that springs to mind just because I think it's funny. In this case being that I would desperately want to point out that I could never use something called The Rabbit without having horrible nightmares about Watership Down whilst I was masturbating.