Saturday, March 31, 2012

Memories. Or Not.

As we did a little more office clean out today, we came across some little photo albums. 

Daughter was looking through them and found a picture of her with two Sesame Street character dolls that belonged to me when I was a kid.

She said (Triple T clears throat, takes long, slow, slug of wine): “Oh, look. It’s me with Ernie and .... Kurt.”


Are you fucking kidding me? 

Ernie and Kurt. 
Is this a giant parenting fail or is Daughter slow?

I forget a lot of weird shit. Shit from my middle and high school days. Shit from two months ago. Shit that happened yesterday. 

I’m thirty-fucking-nine years old and I haven’t forgotten Bert and Ernie.

Maybe it’s time to lay off the “Lost” episodes and assault Daughter’s gray matter with two decades worth of pre-Elmo Sesame Street. 

I’m super tempted to ask Little Guy if he can name the surly green fucker that lived in the trash can. Or make both of them sing the theme song to me. If they fail the test, I’m getting knocked up again, and raising this one properly.

And if it's a boy, I will name him Bert.


  1. Surly guy in the trash can? That one's easy. Ask them to name Big Bird's imaginary friend - I'd accept almost any answer that wasn't "heroin".

  2. You're talking about Snuffy (Snuffalupagus), right?

    Once we stop watching Lost, I'm quizzing them.

  3. Kurt, huh...I suspect one too many episodes of Glee.

    1. Ah, crap. That too. Parenting Fail!