WUMF: October 2013 GIRAFFE Edition

I think someone should dress as a giraffe for Halloween and go around trick or treating with their head hung in shame.

Why?

Because, while it is not obvious what the inside joke would be, the social scientist in me would love to see how many people would immediately think of that goofy meme upon seeing a giraffe coming up their walk.    There would not even be an acknowledgement of sorts, just "What answer did you give?"  And you would know.  You would flat out know that two complete strangers would have that connection based on social media.

By the way, the answer is "The door."
No matter how many people say eyes, the given circumstance is that you have already woke up because you know your parents are on the front stoop with goodies.  So, the only thing you can open first, with that pretense, is the door.

Frankly, my parents are in their 70s and if they show up on my doorstep with a basket of food at 3AM, I'm calling the cops.

Pinin' For the Fjords

My kid has grasped many concepts in her five years.  She’s quite astute and has a well developed sense of humor.  While she does not excel in straight forward joke telling, she’s got the observational and dry wit part down pat, as you have probably read in past posts.  However, she equally impressed and disappointed me in the span of five hours.

Sunday, we went to the Aviary in Pittsburgh.  The West entrance is a parent’s nightmare as it opens right into the gift shop.  This is like crack for my child.  She immediately wanted a stuffed animal as she is a stuffed animal junkie.  We managed to get through the next three hours without having to buy something but on our way out, I caved.  For $12 and ten minutes worth of heavy decision making, she settled on a parrot.  As we walked up to the counter, she took the parrot and flipped it on its back.  She then elbowed me and said, “Look, Daddy… Dead Parrot.” 

Now, I’m not sure if it’s a genetic or instinctual thing for her, but it made me laugh out loud.   I was raised on Python.  My father, the corruptor, had all three of us well versed in British humor from the likes of Python, Dave Allen, and Benny Hill.  So, this was a particularly proud moment.  Why?  I was once reprimanded, not severely, but shamed nonetheless, by our quality team in my old job over this love of Python.  I worked at a medical manufacturer and included in the return authorization for broken equipment various phrases from The Dead Parrot Sketch.  Apparently, the FDA does not have a sense of humor.  Perhaps they are German.

To have my child, who to my knowledge has never seen or heard The Dead Parrot sketch, say to me, “Look, Daddy… Dead Parrot” almost made me question that whole genetic vs. instinct issue.  However, not more than five hours later, after much debate about leaving the parrot at home while we went out, it joined the invisible choir.   The foot fell off and she freaked.   I left her in the car with her mother while I ran into the store.  She continued to sob while I had much needed away time from the situation.  After calming down from my fit of, “We spend money on stuff and it gets broke” to  “Why can’t you just leave it at home and it won’t get broke”, I busted out into a fit of laughter as my wife informed me that our child wanted to take the parrot home and bury it.  Literally put it in a box and bury it. 

So, after getting home and unloading the car, I dug up some needle and thread and she waited patiently while I performed surgery on her bird.

I called her over and she examined it.  It’s one foot was now a little shorter than the other but it passed.   As we put her to bed, bird in hand, she kissed me and said, “You did a good job.  A girl would have done better, but it’s OK.”