Doll Deception & What’s In A Name & Fight Night
One of the latest crazes-slash-obsessions among young girls is something called a Monster High Doll. I know this because I have a crazed-slash-obsessed 5-year-old daughter who emotionally drained and beat my wife and I down until she got not one, but two Monster High Dolls.
Sienna was in bliss, playing with dolls clearly designed by somebody influenced by the 1935 movie classic “Bride of Frankenstein.” The dolls all have long bodies, over-sized heads and wild hair.
Everything was great for a few days.
Then something horrible happened.
One of the legs of one of the Monster High Dolls snapped off at the knee.
My wife, Mary, tried gluing the doll leg back on to the doll body.
It worked. And the leg still would be on the doll if all Sienna did was look at it.
But no, she had to play with it.
The leg came off again.
She was in tears.
I tried telling her it was OK. And that there was nothing wrong with having a physically challenged Monster High Doll.
She wasn’t buying it. She’s five.
We told her we would buy her another Monster High Doll, the exact same one.
She rapidly shook her head no, tears flying off her tiny cheeks. She didn’t want another doll. She wanted hers to be all better again.
What’s a dad to do?
Well, here’s the plan:
Today after work, I will scour store shelves at Target and Wal-Mart and wherever else they might carry these odd-looking dolls to find the exact same doll.
Then, in the dark of night while she’s asleep, I’ll sneak into Sienna’s bedroom and, like some sort of doll fairy, replace the physically challenged doll with the new one.
Will she believe that her Monster Hill Doll is all healed up?
She’s not a dimwit so probably not.
Then I’ll take several hours to explain to her what cloning is and that we used the old doll’s DNA (dolloxyribonucleic acid) to create a new one.
Hey, I’m desperate.
I hate seeing a sad child.
I’ll try just about anything to make my daughter happy. Wish me luck.
(Posted April 3, 2015)
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What’s In A Name
I have five kids. They came to my wife, Mary, and me in this order: girl, boy, boy, boy, girl. When each was born, there were lengthy discussions and deliberations about what their name should be.
It took the longest to name our first child. We were new to the whole baby-naming thing and wanted to get it right.
We didn’t want a name that was too popular at the time, which was June of 1995, so Jessica, Ashley and Emily were out.
We also wanted to make sure we didn’t give her anything that could be considered a stripper’s name, so Lace, Cinnamon and Destini weren’t in the running, either.
We settled on Samantha, not knowing until about a year after she was born that Samantha was the fourth-most popular girls name in 1995. On the plus side, it wasn’t a popular name among strippers.
We liked the name. Over the years, it has been abridged to Sam and Sami.
I never have been much for nicknames but, occasionally, I would call her my little Petunia.
Years later, when our second daughter came along, Sam became my big Petunia and Sienna took over as my little Petunia.
I’m telling you all this because my daughter, my Samantha, has been given a nickname at her new job. She’s the producer of the AM 1130 Morning Show.
Yesterday, the two co-hosts of the show were talking about how Samantha was inexperienced and not worldly. How she was more like a lump of clay.
So they named her Lump.
She likes the name and giggles whenever it’s mentioned. If I had given her that name, she would have run into her room sobbing hysterically and folded herself into the fetal position for about a week and a half.
But a couple of morning show guys give her the name and she giggles.
As the Wicked Witch of the West once said, “What a world, what a world.”
Lump. My daughter is now known as Lump.
Well, at least it’s not a stripper’s name.
At least I don’t think it is.
Please let me know if you’ve ever driven by a strip club and seen up on the marquee: “Featured this week wrapped around the pole on the main stage, Lump.”
Then again, please, don’t tell me.
(Posted April 2, 2015)
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I once started an argument with my wife in order to save lives.
It’s true. This is no April Fools Day joke.
Here’s what happened …
My family shows horses. We’ve made no secret of that.
We show Miniature horses, Shetland Ponies and full-size horses.
Sometimes, we show late into the night and it bleeds into morning.
One time, we were in Sioux Falls, S.D., and the show didn’t get done until almost midnight. It was past midnight by the time we loaded the trailer with horses and horse stuff and hit the road.
I was exhausted. All the kids were asleep moments after climbing into the truck.
I asked my wife, Mary, to stay awake and talk to me to help keep me awake.
She nodded. Then she nodded off.
Within 30 seconds of me saying please stay awake, she was asleep.
I had a dilemma. Do I pull over and take a nap? That would have been the smart thing to do.
Problem was, it was now Monday morning and I had to be at work at the KQ Morning Show by 5:30 a.m.
It’s at least a four-hour drive and it already was past 1 a.m. I still had to drop off Mary and the kids and the horses at our place in Orono and then head to work. I had a very tight window.
So I went with Plan B.
I woke Mary up and started an argument.
The topic of the argument didn’t matter. I just had to piss her off and keep her awake.
I knew I already had a talent for pissing her off. That early morning, I also learned my talents extended to keeping her awake once pissed off.
She was really, really pissed off, especially after I told her my intent was to piss her off.
On the plus side, we made it home safe.
That was the important thing.
(Posted April 1, 2015)