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Mimick This You Damn Monkey


Somewhere in the three days it took us to celebrate Christmas, my house was transitioned from only seemingly mad to Peewee's Playhouse. If it makes noise and/or moves, Rinn had the pleasure of unwrapping it and introducing it to his toy chest. I'm going to go out on a limb here and make the assumption that everyone read the post in which I whine, obnoxiously and in great detail, about having to buy baby toys.

As it turns out, the toys of today are capable of great and unimaginable things. Rinn walked away with a mechanical cat that turns corners and avoids table legs and a partially stuffed turtle whose back displays a handful of major constellations on the walls and ceilings of his room. When I think about the fact that I was once infatuated by a stuffed dog whose velcroed tummy opened up to expose up to five puppies and Rinn pretty much got a robot kitten, I felt a little jilted. I have to assume my parents felt similar pangs of jealousy over the debut of Teddy Ruxpin.

Another one of Rinn's miracle toys would be the Mimicking Monkey. Seemingly harmless, it's a plush primate that can hang on the side of his crib and play a lullaby or a recording of monkey's horsing around in the jungle; which, if we are honest, a baby at play kind of sounds like a tiny chimp raising hell in the rain forest anyway. The Mimicking Monkey is also capable of recording a personal message, which can be played back over the lullaby providing what's supposed to be a soothing and familiar environment at bedtime. Emphasis on "supposed to be."

I had just finished changing another diaper and as a result, had broken a sweat and found myself in state of extreme frustration. With Rinn weighing in at around 26 pounds these days, a diaper change looks eerily like that scene from Over The Top where Sylvester Stallone arm wrestles that really hairy guy, except neither of us has a beard. The task is so difficult, I often do a legitimate victory lap around the apartment while Rinn sulks in the corner. Apparently he had grown tired of his losing record because while I was jogging thru the kitchen chanting "Eye of the Tiger" he took it upon himself to empty his dresser drawers, or at least the ones he can reach. I should note that I try not to make a habit out of swearing at my son and it's something I've been working on but I'm human, and I have a dirtier mouth than a sailor who is leaving their post to become a prostitute. In any event, my victorious lyrics turned to "Damn it Rinn, your bibs are [expletive] everywhere!"

BEEP.

I had been set up. Either it was cruel coincidence or Rinn had just staged his first covert operation because he had managed to record me cussing at him in a very exuberant manner using that now villainous monkey. Just to be sure, I clicked the play button. There it is, my voice immortalized, dropping the F bomb on a loop in unison with a tranquil tune. Perfect. Doesn't he know that only the police are legally allowed to record audio without a persons' consent?

Panic ensued and the monkey now plays "Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, delete, delete, DELETE!"



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