Continuing my experiment of memorable, if not top-shelf, parenting, last night H-bomb and I watched Lily Allen’s “Alfie” video 14 times at bedtime. We were both FASCINATED.
“WE HAVE TO LIE ON THE BED LIKE HER!” yelled H.
“Okay.”
“I’M HER!”
“Okay.”
“WHERE HER PARENTS?”
“I don’t know. Maybe she’s babysitting her little brother?”
“AND HE SOOOO NAUGHTY!”
“SO naughty.”
“WE HAVE TO DO THAT LIKE HER!” [kicking legs]
“Okay.” [kicking legs too]
“IS SHE TAKING HIS TOYS AWAY BECAUSE HE SO NAUGHTY?”
“Yes. That’s exactly what’s happening.”
“WHY HE LOOKING AT BARBIE?”
“Good question. Maybe he likes Barbie.”
“WHAT IN THAT REFWIGERWATOR?”
“Ooh, yucky spicy grownup drinks. Bleh. Beer.”
“IT NAUGHTY TO DRINK BEER! YUCKY! GROWNUPS!”
“Exactly!”
“AND IT NAUGHTY TO SHOW YOUR BUM-BUM!”
“Yes!”
All right! I went to bed feeling pretty educational.
This morning, H. ran over to her daddy and said, “I WANT TO SEE THE NAUGHTY PUPPET BROTHER THAT SMOKES!”
That was hard to explain to her daddy. But he was a puppeteer when I met him! He should be happy that I’m educating his child about his former trade, eh? What’s a little weed-smoking puppet to a three-year-old? Look what his buddies, The Old Trouts, are up to, man! Puppet murder! Graphic puppet death scenes! (Click on the snippets at their site.)
Alfie’s harmless. I tell myself. I tell myself. I tell myself.
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