"Ooh, ooh, ooh, I love this song. Let us boogie."
Abbie and I were out on the town yesterday. Ordinarily we go out to pick up Vital Supplies, but yesterday was more of a comparison-shopping trip. Ellie had an idea that Abbie would like a hand puppet. I have plenty of socks with holes in them just begging for us to draw a couple eyes and a nose on them, but Ellie wanted something nice, i.e. something that cost money. She tried looking during her free minutes (she never really has a complete day off), but hand puppets are hard to find. You can’t just walk into any big box store and pick up a hand puppet, oh no. You need to walk into a big box toy store to find one, and even then you need to ask because they’re kept with the ordinary stuffed animals and trying to find a hand puppet in a sea of stuffed animals is hard, much harder than trying to find a moviegoer who wants to see The Island. We have no toy stores near our home, so I visited a couple of them to save Ellie some time. This excursion may sound like a waste of time and gas, especially with a gallon of gas currently going for around 1.99 pints of blood, but I do love my wife and I needed to entertain Abbie somehow. Plus I could stop at the mall playground on the way home and, more importantly, purchase some frozen custard.
Yesterday was hot. This was a welcome break from the brain-melting heat we experienced earlier that could make residents of Phoenix look at a national weather map and remark, “I’m glad I don’t live there.” The weather was also cloudy with a stiff breeze, almost comfortable enough to drive around town with the windows open and the air conditioning off. In fact, I was woozy enough from the blood loss that I decided to save some gas and open the windows. As a bonus, the wind in her face entertains Abbie, and it helps to drown out the Sesame Street CD in my ears that I have to play to keep her content.
While stopped at a traffic light, I suddenly became very aware of the kiddie music bellowing from my open vehicle. I’ve always been of the opinion that I should not be able to hear your music inside my car because your music probably sucks. I try to return the favor because I realize that not everybody shares my great taste in music. There I was, though, parked on the road with Elmo blaring from my open windows and wondering if other people could hear it. A few surrounding cars had their windows open too. If they could hear it, were they annoyed by it? Most loud music annoys me because it contains many curse words, and if I wanted to hear that I’d listen to my wife describe the driving habits of others. There’s nothing offensive about Sesame Street,* though the uninitiated human being can only hear Elmo sing “la la la” so many times before snapping. If it’s annoying them, should I care? I have just as much right to be on the road as they do, and surely Sesame Street is a much more pleasant noise to have emanating from my car than Abbie screaming. If I care, why do I? Over the past year, I’ve grown much more ambivalent of what others think of me in public. I’ll carry a giant diaper bag that’s about one tampon away from being a purse. I’ll wear a shirt covered with baby spit while looking and smelling like I haven’t bathed recently because I haven’t. I’ll make a total fool of myself in the interest of keeping Abbie happy. If I play music in my car, though, I’ll wonder if others can hear it.
I decided to forget about it. Whenever I worry about what other people think of what I’m doing for her, I always return to the thought of “it can’t be worse than hearing Abbie scream.” She made the point moot fairly soon anyway by complaining about the heat, forcing me to turn on the air conditioning. We continued to look for hand puppets, only to discover our neighbors had some that we could borrow for free. I may have wasted 1.76 pints of blood worth of gas to discover this, but at least I got Peanut Butter Delight frozen custard out of the trip.
* Besides maybe that Bert and Ernie thing. You know what I’m talking about.
Yesterday was hot. This was a welcome break from the brain-melting heat we experienced earlier that could make residents of Phoenix look at a national weather map and remark, “I’m glad I don’t live there.” The weather was also cloudy with a stiff breeze, almost comfortable enough to drive around town with the windows open and the air conditioning off. In fact, I was woozy enough from the blood loss that I decided to save some gas and open the windows. As a bonus, the wind in her face entertains Abbie, and it helps to drown out the Sesame Street CD in my ears that I have to play to keep her content.
While stopped at a traffic light, I suddenly became very aware of the kiddie music bellowing from my open vehicle. I’ve always been of the opinion that I should not be able to hear your music inside my car because your music probably sucks. I try to return the favor because I realize that not everybody shares my great taste in music. There I was, though, parked on the road with Elmo blaring from my open windows and wondering if other people could hear it. A few surrounding cars had their windows open too. If they could hear it, were they annoyed by it? Most loud music annoys me because it contains many curse words, and if I wanted to hear that I’d listen to my wife describe the driving habits of others. There’s nothing offensive about Sesame Street,* though the uninitiated human being can only hear Elmo sing “la la la” so many times before snapping. If it’s annoying them, should I care? I have just as much right to be on the road as they do, and surely Sesame Street is a much more pleasant noise to have emanating from my car than Abbie screaming. If I care, why do I? Over the past year, I’ve grown much more ambivalent of what others think of me in public. I’ll carry a giant diaper bag that’s about one tampon away from being a purse. I’ll wear a shirt covered with baby spit while looking and smelling like I haven’t bathed recently because I haven’t. I’ll make a total fool of myself in the interest of keeping Abbie happy. If I play music in my car, though, I’ll wonder if others can hear it.
I decided to forget about it. Whenever I worry about what other people think of what I’m doing for her, I always return to the thought of “it can’t be worse than hearing Abbie scream.” She made the point moot fairly soon anyway by complaining about the heat, forcing me to turn on the air conditioning. We continued to look for hand puppets, only to discover our neighbors had some that we could borrow for free. I may have wasted 1.76 pints of blood worth of gas to discover this, but at least I got Peanut Butter Delight frozen custard out of the trip.
* Besides maybe that Bert and Ernie thing. You know what I’m talking about.
posted by Matt at
9:38 PM
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