94% of the time at our house, the show of choice (someone’s choice–not mine) is Mickey Mouse Clubhouse. It is apparently baby heroin because my child has watched this show since she was only a couple of months old. She’s been known to sit up out of a deep sleep when the Hot Dog Song comes on…yes, we leave the show running after she’s asleep because we’re too lazy or tired to change the channel or we are curious to know if Chef Goofy is able to deliver all of his food orders from his roach coach food truck without the help of Toodles. (Spoiler Alert…….They always need Toodles’s help, by the way.)
Anyways, she loves it and watches it any time she can…or any time mom and dad need a break and want a minute to look at their phones or iPad. So, out the window goes the promise that we wouldn’t use television as a babysitter. It is what it is. Judge me.
Today, since my wife and I are on Christmas vacation and because my daughter got a near endless supply of new toys for Christmas that kept her attention, we decided to watch one of the umpteen shows we have recorded on our DVR from this past fall. We began watching the show but I had to turn it up ridiculously loud to hear over my daughter playing with her new toys and babbling to herself.
I promised my wife that the next time our daughter sits down to watch Mickey Mouse Clubhouse that I was going to get in the floor, ramble loudly and incoherently and bang a tambourine just to give my daughter a taste of her own medicine.
- I’m too fat to get into the floor and then back up again without straining some part of my body.
- She’s 11 months old. I’m 31. That seemed like a garish thing to do. No wonder my daughter doesn’t like me.
- I bought my daughter the damn tambourine for Christmas so I screwed myself on that one.
So, this evening while my daughter watched Mickey Mouse Clubhouse, I just sat there like the fat asshole I am and watched it with her.
You know you’ve seen too many Mickey Mouse Clubhouses when you start answering the characters back when they ask a question.
Minnie Mouse: “You wanna help me pick out a song to sing?”
Me: “No, bitch, I don’t. I’d really rather you just shut the hell up.”
My wife: “I don’t really think she needs your help and she’s going to sing regardless.”
Whatever, don’t ask the questions if you don’t like the answers.
Each of these characters have a backstory….all that I’ve made up as I’ve sat and watched endless hours of the show. But that’s for another post on another day.