“Do fish know that it is Christmas? DofishknowthatitisChristmas? DO FISH KNOW THAT IT IS CHRISTMAS? Or.Are.They.Confused?”
The aforementioned words, sung to the tune of “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” may be the death of me yet.
Thanks a lot PBS!
For 58 straight minutes on Thanksgiving morning my 5-year-old sat motionless in front of the television, completely and utterly entranced by “Curious George: A Very Monkey Christmas.”
At the time I was elbow-deep in raw turkey carcass, unstuffed stuffing and uncooked potatoes. Consequently, I was grateful that good ol’ George the monkey was occupying my kid while I got our family’s Butterball in the oven.
That was then.
Now, I’m this close to joining the turkey leftovers in the refrigerator… where it is blissfully quiet.
The refrigerator is probably the only place where my daughter wouldn’t consider hunting me down to regal me with her latest and greatest holiday tune, “Do Fish Know That It Is Christmas.”
Apparently, while my dear sweet cherub (who has a memory like a computer hard drive) was transfixed by Curious George’s new Christmas flick, she picked up a few unique holiday tunes.
The fish one was her favorite.
As a result, she has been singing the ditty NON-STOP since Thanksgiving.
And my girl is an equal opportunity entertainer.
Translation: No one (and I mean no one) is immune from the fish song.
At first, I laughed right along with her. I beamed as she belted out the weird tune like a Broadway superstar. I clapped, whistled and shouted “BRAVO!” when she took her performance-ending bow. I kissed, hugged and complimented her on her stellar singing abilities. Then, I returned to the kitchen to finish the green bean casserole… and she followed.
She promptly gave an encore presentation of the wacky fish song varying her pitch and range.
I mashed potatoes.
She sang the song.
I stirred gravy.
She sang the song.
I rolled out pie dough.
She sang the song.
I called my parents in Hawaii to wish them a happy Thanksgiving.
She sang the song… 10 times!
At the end of her tenth go-round, immediately following her big “OR are THEY Cooooooonnnnnnfuuuuuused” finish, I heard my daughter ask my dad: “How do you like it grandpa?”
His reply: “I think I’m confused.”
Join the club, pops.
I realize that childhood obsessions are a natural part of growing up, but for the love of fish everywhere (and the preservation of my own sanity) I have got to get that kid to stop singing about confused cold-blooded aquatic vertebrates.
Then again, I suppose it could be worse. She could be singing about ghetto bastards.
What’s your child’s most annoying obsession?
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