Wednesday, March 7, 2012

Explaining the Chimp

I recently shared the (awesome!) story and video of the Stripping Chimp. He should probably have a real name, but it looks like Stripping Chimp is what sticks.

Anyway, there's a bit more to that story.

Because we were so crazy busy the weekend S.C. (that's how we roll, we're tight like that) made his debut, I actually didn't get a chance to talk to my mom (Bunny) until Monday night. A full 48 hours into our Life with the Chimp.

I called my parents as we were wrapping up dinner. Bunny asked if Big Sis had gotten to open her gift yet. We said she had... and paused.

Bunny: Well, did she like it?
MDD: Oh, yes, she likes it. However...

Me: Did you, uh, happen to play that song... ALL the way through?
Bunny: No, not really... <thoughtful pause> ...Wait. Why? What does it do?

That's where I started laughing. And apparently, just laughing for seemingly NO reason makes people nervous. In case you were wondering.

In the most awkward two-step ever, MDDaddy and I tried to skim around directly telling my mother that she'd sent a stripping primate to her granddaughter for Valentine's Day. Thankfully, Bunny picked up on our evasiveness and cut through it by asking what, EXACTLY, this thing does that is so bad.

To which I gleefully replied: IT *STRIPS*!!

She was absolutely mortified. And then, much like her offspring, started snort-laughing. Monkey chimed in trying to sing the chimp's song and then we all were pretty much useless.

I had them on speaker phone at that point, so it was really just a cacophony of snorting, laughing, stomping, weak protests of "no..!" followed by confirmations of "YES!" There might have been some gas passed in the general frolicking.

My father, in his effortless straight-man tone, then asked if we were "all on drugs, or what."
I told him, maybe we ought to be...

In all the chaos, MDDaddy had gotten up from the table to take some dishes to the sink. I don't really recall where the conversation had meandered by then, and what came next is even more mixed up still.

All I know is: one minute he was taking dishes to the sink... and the next, he was just... CACKLING.

I mean, full-on, lost-his-marbles, keep-away-from-sharp-objects, CACKLING. Crazy eyes and all.

Papi (my dad): What. The. Hell...???

Me: I honestly have *no* idea. He's just... standing there. Holding a sock.

Papi: Wha..???

Me: I do not know what is going on right now.

The absolute pandemonium that ensued is a little hard to describe. MDD looked like his eyes were going to pop out on springs, like those cheap toy glasses or something, and he was laughing so hard he couldn't breathe enough to talk.

All he did was wave this sock at me.

...Which is not an effective means of communication, for the record; I don't speak sock.

Interspersed with his cackling are my parents' questions of WTH is going on at our house and Monkey shrieking laughing.

He finally caught a breath, and punctuated by the sock waiving (which loosely translates as, "Look! A sock!"- I am a quick study), started to explain.

He got to the sink and went to put down some dishes, then figured he should roll up his sleeves.
So, he did.

And pulled out a missing black dress sock he had been looking for, for like, weeks.

From his sleeve.

...Of the shirt he had been wearing ALL FREAKING DAY.

It was seven o'clock at night by this point. We're talking-- this sock hung out through TWELVE HOURS in that sleeve.

Without him knowing.

I do not understand how a grown man could not notice an extra bit of fabric, of that magnitude, up his sleeve for twelve hours.

Including three meals- breakfast, lunch, AND dinner-- and an entire work day, plus driving to and from work.

This was not a tiny little, Monkey-sized sock either. It was his OWN big black dress sock. Roughly the length of my entire forearm.

I laughed a bit but then just stared, blinking at him.

All I could come up with was, "How... oblivious... ARE you?????"

His answer was simple: "I don't know. That's why I'm laughing."
I just nodded and said, "Well, OK then. Carry on."

My parents adeptly diagnosed us all as needing some sleep, and got off the phone. Still sore from our laughing fits, we ran Monkey's bath and relocated upstairs. Our hallway forms a  bit of a landing/balcony/whatever, just outside the bathroom door.

Monkey was relishing her bath toy time while MDDaddy and I were talking on the landing. We confirmed our suspicions that Bunny had honestly had NO idea the chimp did what it did, and that this undoubtedly made it all that much better.

We also discovered I had really cold hands, as proven by my unstoppable impulse to put them on the back of his neck. He countered with equally cold hands, and we progressed into a cold-hand tickle/jump fest outside the bathroom doorway.

We stopped to catch our breath again, to find Monkey staring at us from the tub, frozen with a mermaid in her hand.

Head cocked, she raised one eyebrow, shook her head slowly, and with a sigh, sadly admonished:

"I'm *really* concerned about you guys..."

That did it.
I actually FELL DOWN.

I barely dragged myself into our room and collapsed on the bed, laughing so hard I could barely move. The snorting, crying, kicking, choking convulsions lasted a couple of minutes.

Sensing a victory, Monkey just kept YELLING from the tub: "I SAID I'm really CONCERNED ABOUT YOU GUYS!!!"

Eye to eye with MDDaddy, caught up in his own laugh convulsions, I weakly mumbled, "Do we have a carbon monoxide problem or something?"

He calmly reassured me that that probably wasn't it.

A little later, my sides still sore from the evening's ridiculousness, I snuggled with Monkey in the rocking chair before her bedtime. We'd read her books already, but she wanted me to tell her just ONE MORE story, *without* a book (a.k.a.: pull a story outta yer... well, yeah).

...Thus began the story of Daddy's Sock Friend, who ran away from Laundry Town in hopes of escaping a life spent shoved in Daddy's shoes.

It was freaking beautiful, I tell you.

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