Wednesday, September 24, 2008

The Future Frank Booth


My four year old daughter has a favorite blanket. It's not really a blanket, per se. More of a small comforter. In the past three months, she has become inseparable from that blanket, carrying it with her everywhere. For example, a few nights ago she fell asleep in the car and I had to carry her up to her room to go to bed. She was out. Sound asleep. I changed her in to her pajamas on our bed (she is still sound asleep, keep in mind) and as I picked her up to carry her into her room, she quickly reached for her blanket which was right beside her to make sure it came with her. It was like some kind of freakish sense she had. In short, if the house were on fire, her brother, Mother and Father are disposable. The blanket is not.

Part of her attachment with this blanket is that she loves the smell of it - because it smells like her. She calls it her "smelly blanket." I call it her "stinky blanket" and I threaten often to take it and get my smell all over it so it will no longer smell like her. Oh yeah, I'm a good father.

Yesterday morning as I was leaving for work, I noticed the smelly blanket laying in a dining room chair, away from my daughter. She was in the living room watching cartoons. After a few minutes of that, she would get up and run into the dining room to smell her blanket. Then she would run back in to watch cartoons, all the while laughing at what she was doing.

Yes it was cute. Yes it made me laugh. And yes, it made me think exactly of Frank Booth huffing his gas. If at any time she orders a Pabst Blue Ribbon and says "don't toast to my health, toast to my fuck" I'm in a whole lotta trouble.

7 comments:

Megan said...

So not expecting that ending...hilarious!

Joseph B. said...

Piper,

Only you could turn an adorable story about your daughter and her blanket into this....

Bob Turnbull said...

A couple of years ago when my son was 5 or 6, he developed this little habit of smelling his fingers. He'd be watching TV and then suddenly (without taking his eyes off the screen) bring his hands under his nose and take a big sniff. Then a bunch of smaller sniffs. Then hands back down. Every few minutes repeat.

Kinda freaked me out for a bit. And then he stopped.

Messin' with my head I tell ya...

elgringo said...

If you find an ear in a field...just leave it there. Then take your daughter to therapy.

Burbanked said...

When my first son was two, I taught him to put his hands on my cheeks and say "I knew it was you, Fredo. You broke my heart. You broke my heart." - and then he'd give me a big kiss.

If I lived in your neighborhood, I would TOTALLY teach your daughter to say the toast line.

Piper said...

Burbanked,

If you lived in my neighborhood and my daughter told me that line I would walk up to you, grab you on both sides of the face and say "I knew it was you, Burbanked. You broke my heart." And then I would have my son egg your house.

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