Tonight at bedtime we commenced an all-too-common search for Monkey’s beloved “teetee.” Teetee is a most ratty and disgusting security blanket. Monkey does not sleep without teetee. And in our family it is understood that you may joke about almost anything, but you do not joke about teetee, or–more specifically–teetee’s whereabouts.
So I cannot explain to you how it was that I stumbled upon teetee and found myself transported back to a time when I used to turn up my boom box and sing into my hair brush. I casually strolled past my unsuspecting son, then began waving his blanket in the air above my head while shaking my behind, leaping side to side, and belting out:
Oh Teetee you’re so fine
You’re so fine and you’re ALL MINE!
There are two ways this could have gone. I fully expected it to go the first way, really. Monkey could have started screaming and crying in indignation about this mistreatment of his beloved rag, and I would’ve stopped immediately and been ashamed. But I guess it’s my lucky day, because it went the second way, where Monkey thought that I was the most amusing and hilarious person on the planet. And that’s how I ended up butchering “Mickey” for a full 20 minutes, all the while getting the best workout I’ve had in months, dancing around like a fool and dangling this germy atrocity all over my children and acting like a cheerleader on acid.
Sometimes it doesn’t take much to lift my spirits.