Well, technically, guess who went to dinner--ME!
Last night was dinner at the boss's place--massa let Sojo into the big house, y'all!!
I arrived with a 6-pack--of juiceboxes--and a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift for the adults. I was instantly greeted by 3-year-old Timmy,* who is really into trains. As massa cooked, I chatted with his new missus** (who actually used to work on my plantation, too, and currently freelances, so we weren't total strangers) and drank some of the wine that they'd already opened. We mostly discussed my impending move Down Under, and entertained the young one. After a few minutes, I noticed that everyone was shoeless, and asked if they preferred I took my shoes off.
"Oh, no, it's fine, whatever you prefer," said Massa.
"Oh, good, um, I'm going to keep them on because I've got a short-pants/ankle-socks situation that the boots are hiding, and it's very unflattering."
I think he understood.
Anyway, dinner was quite pleasant and low-key, and I didn't slip up by, you know, talking about how I can't wait to leave my plantation. In fact, my heart was actually warmed when the massa told me that the big massa (the overseer, if you will--will you?^) has been interviewing potential successors and singing my praises to each of them, basically telling them, "you've got big shoes to fill, and from the looks of it, you can't handle clown shoes."
Or, you know, something tender about me.
Anyway, the thing I like about little kids is that in new situations, they force everyone to focus on them, thereby taking attention away from the guest/new person/or cousin with Elephantitis. I didn't finish my dinner (it was delicious, I swear!), and started to feel guilty, when little Timmy (who clearly had left the table long before the adults and was amusing himself) came back and asked me to wear a mask and a conductor hat and let him ride on my back as though I was a human train.
Who was I to deny the cherub this wish? (As you know from previous posts, I have a way with the children.)
So there I was, in a mask that obscured my vision and a hat fit for a toddler, yelling "Choo Choo" and prattling on about Thomas the Tank Engine in front of my boss and his future wife.
Yep, the blacktress has no shame.
It really helps that my massa and I have a rapport, and he finds me pretty funny. Turns out the future wife shares his sense of humor, and, like, Sojo, she is really rational with children. Take, for instance, the following dinner time excerpt:
Timmy: Mommy, I'm hungry.
Mom: Well, Timmy, you didn't eat your dinner, and dinner time is over. You can have milk, or an apple.
Timmy: I don't want an apple! (pouting, of course, ensues)
Mom: Well, what about a glass of milk?
Timmy: I don't want milk. ("Oh my god, do I see a glisten of a tear?" I wonder as the scene goes down)
Mom: Well, Timmy, I don't know what to tell you.
HAHAHAHH!!! That's exactly how I will be if I ever accidentally get knocked up and decide to carry my kid to term and raise it myself.
Seriously, you've got to be logical with them, you can't let that ranting and whining go unchecked, or you'll end up with a brat.
In the end, he went for the apple and was quite pleased.
After the "human-train" incident, Timmy and I had really bonded, and he ran into his room and returned with The Cat in the Hat.
"Here, you be the teacher!" He said to me, as he pulled me over to the living room chair. He nestled beside me so I could read to him. (Tenderness!!!) He then made his mom and my massa sit on the floor in front of us so that we could read to them.
Oh my god, I was about to conduct story-time to my boss.
For serious, guys. I cannot make my life up. Is this normal?
As I said earlier, I don't really go for baby talk with the little people (or with dwarfs). I also have a tendency to see the seedy, sketchy, darkly humorous sides of so many of children's shows and books (see my serious analysis of television show Max and Ruby, for more). As a seasoned comedic veteran, I know the importance of connecting with the audience. While I had a 3-year-old who wanted to read, I also had two adults who were not about to sit through Cat in the Hat while seated on the floor. I had to provide a literary experience that would reach them all.
So, here, for your reading pleasure, is the completely improvised (and then quickly written down on the subway home) version of the Cat in the Hat, as told by Sojourner to Massa, his future wifey, and the cutest little boy ever.
PLEASE NOTE: The underlying goal of my story was also to help get little Timmy drowsy and ready for bed (it was, after all, already an hour past his bedtime!).
Last night was dinner at the boss's place--massa let Sojo into the big house, y'all!!
I arrived with a 6-pack--of juiceboxes--and a bottle of wine as a housewarming gift for the adults. I was instantly greeted by 3-year-old Timmy,* who is really into trains. As massa cooked, I chatted with his new missus** (who actually used to work on my plantation, too, and currently freelances, so we weren't total strangers) and drank some of the wine that they'd already opened. We mostly discussed my impending move Down Under, and entertained the young one. After a few minutes, I noticed that everyone was shoeless, and asked if they preferred I took my shoes off.
"Oh, no, it's fine, whatever you prefer," said Massa.
"Oh, good, um, I'm going to keep them on because I've got a short-pants/ankle-socks situation that the boots are hiding, and it's very unflattering."
I think he understood.
Anyway, dinner was quite pleasant and low-key, and I didn't slip up by, you know, talking about how I can't wait to leave my plantation. In fact, my heart was actually warmed when the massa told me that the big massa (the overseer, if you will--will you?^) has been interviewing potential successors and singing my praises to each of them, basically telling them, "you've got big shoes to fill, and from the looks of it, you can't handle clown shoes."
Or, you know, something tender about me.
Anyway, the thing I like about little kids is that in new situations, they force everyone to focus on them, thereby taking attention away from the guest/new person/or cousin with Elephantitis. I didn't finish my dinner (it was delicious, I swear!), and started to feel guilty, when little Timmy (who clearly had left the table long before the adults and was amusing himself) came back and asked me to wear a mask and a conductor hat and let him ride on my back as though I was a human train.
Who was I to deny the cherub this wish? (As you know from previous posts, I have a way with the children.)
So there I was, in a mask that obscured my vision and a hat fit for a toddler, yelling "Choo Choo" and prattling on about Thomas the Tank Engine in front of my boss and his future wife.
Yep, the blacktress has no shame.
It really helps that my massa and I have a rapport, and he finds me pretty funny. Turns out the future wife shares his sense of humor, and, like, Sojo, she is really rational with children. Take, for instance, the following dinner time excerpt:
Timmy: Mommy, I'm hungry.
Mom: Well, Timmy, you didn't eat your dinner, and dinner time is over. You can have milk, or an apple.
Timmy: I don't want an apple! (pouting, of course, ensues)
Mom: Well, what about a glass of milk?
Timmy: I don't want milk. ("Oh my god, do I see a glisten of a tear?" I wonder as the scene goes down)
Mom: Well, Timmy, I don't know what to tell you.
HAHAHAHH!!! That's exactly how I will be if I ever accidentally get knocked up and decide to carry my kid to term and raise it myself.
Seriously, you've got to be logical with them, you can't let that ranting and whining go unchecked, or you'll end up with a brat.
In the end, he went for the apple and was quite pleased.
After the "human-train" incident, Timmy and I had really bonded, and he ran into his room and returned with The Cat in the Hat.
"Here, you be the teacher!" He said to me, as he pulled me over to the living room chair. He nestled beside me so I could read to him. (Tenderness!!!) He then made his mom and my massa sit on the floor in front of us so that we could read to them.
Oh my god, I was about to conduct story-time to my boss.
For serious, guys. I cannot make my life up. Is this normal?
As I said earlier, I don't really go for baby talk with the little people (or with dwarfs). I also have a tendency to see the seedy, sketchy, darkly humorous sides of so many of children's shows and books (see my serious analysis of television show Max and Ruby, for more). As a seasoned comedic veteran, I know the importance of connecting with the audience. While I had a 3-year-old who wanted to read, I also had two adults who were not about to sit through Cat in the Hat while seated on the floor. I had to provide a literary experience that would reach them all.
So, here, for your reading pleasure, is the completely improvised (and then quickly written down on the subway home) version of the Cat in the Hat, as told by Sojourner to Massa, his future wifey, and the cutest little boy ever.
PLEASE NOTE: The underlying goal of my story was also to help get little Timmy drowsy and ready for bed (it was, after all, already an hour past his bedtime!).
THE CAT IN THE HAT: BLACKTRESS VERSION
The sun did not shine.
It was too wet to play.
So we sat in the house
And tried to sleep the day away.
I sat there with Timmy.
We sat there, we two.
And I said, "How I wish you were older
so I could be friends with you."
Mom wasn't home
'cause she was making ends meet
So we sat in the house
And wondered what we would eat.
But all we could do was to
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
And we did not like it.
Not one little bit.
And then
something went BUMP!
Sally reached for the phone.
I said, "Oh god, why did mom leave us alone?"
We looked!
Then we saw him step in on the mat!
We looked!
And we saw him!
The Cat in the Hat!
And he said to us,
"Why do you sit there like that?"
"Tomorrow's school, but don't be weepy
We can have the kind of good fun
that will make you nice and sleepy!"
"I know some good games we could play,"
Said the cat.
"I know some new tricks," [Ed. Note:Watch for child molesting]
Said the Cat in the Hat.
"A lot of good tricks.
I will show them to you.
Your mother
Will not mind at all if I do."
Then Sally and I
Did not know what to say.
Our mother was out of the house
For the day.
Who were to deny a feline in fancy dress?
The times would be good, we expected no less.
But our fish said, "No! No!
Make that cat go away!"
See, the fish is a buzzkill [Young Timmy looked at me blankly at this point]
cause he does nothing all day.
Then the cat let out a yawn,
and said, "fish, kill that noise.
"We're gonna have some fun,
then sleep soundly--and poised."
"I have a game called,
INDOOR VOICES, PLEASE--
It's where everyone stops yelling
And jumping on his knees."
[Improvising in rhyme is hard--especially when you have to keep it PG.
I made it about that far when Timmy got distracted and they went and got Goodnight Gorilla-- a completely unsanitary tale about animals breaking out of their cages at the zoo and going into the home of the zookeeper so they can sleep in his bed.
Ew.]
Well, even though I couldn't make it to the end for Timmy, here's where the story was headed.
"The cat was acting totes wired
But Sally and Timmy were really tired.
They wanted the fun, but knew they had a big day ahead
So they said, 'hey cat, come back tomorrow,
we're gonna go to bed.'"
"But what about your mother?
Don't you want to say hi when she gets in?"
"No," said Sally,
"She'll probably be surly, and will
undoubtedly be reeking of gin."
So the Cat sighed, and almost cried.
"No one every wants to play me!
This is why I resort to breaking and entering!"
Sally and her brother just shuffled up the stairs.
Hardened by life as latchkey children,
they just yelled back, "Dude, who cares?"
As they tucked themselves soundly in their own beds,
The cat sat in the living room,
balancing the fish bowl on his head.
He then went searching in the cupboards, for a little late-night nip
As tears poured down his cheeks, he said,
"Step 13--it's okay if I have one little sip..."
THE END.
Take that, Seuss!
It was too wet to play.
So we sat in the house
And tried to sleep the day away.
I sat there with Timmy.
We sat there, we two.
And I said, "How I wish you were older
so I could be friends with you."
Mom wasn't home
'cause she was making ends meet
So we sat in the house
And wondered what we would eat.
But all we could do was to
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
Sit!
And we did not like it.
Not one little bit.
And then
something went BUMP!
Sally reached for the phone.
I said, "Oh god, why did mom leave us alone?"
We looked!
Then we saw him step in on the mat!
We looked!
And we saw him!
The Cat in the Hat!
And he said to us,
"Why do you sit there like that?"
"Tomorrow's school, but don't be weepy
We can have the kind of good fun
that will make you nice and sleepy!"
"I know some good games we could play,"
Said the cat.
"I know some new tricks," [Ed. Note:Watch for child molesting]
Said the Cat in the Hat.
"A lot of good tricks.
I will show them to you.
Your mother
Will not mind at all if I do."
Then Sally and I
Did not know what to say.
Our mother was out of the house
For the day.
Who were to deny a feline in fancy dress?
The times would be good, we expected no less.
But our fish said, "No! No!
Make that cat go away!"
See, the fish is a buzzkill [Young Timmy looked at me blankly at this point]
cause he does nothing all day.
Then the cat let out a yawn,
and said, "fish, kill that noise.
"We're gonna have some fun,
then sleep soundly--and poised."
"I have a game called,
INDOOR VOICES, PLEASE--
It's where everyone stops yelling
And jumping on his knees."
[Improvising in rhyme is hard--especially when you have to keep it PG.
I made it about that far when Timmy got distracted and they went and got Goodnight Gorilla-- a completely unsanitary tale about animals breaking out of their cages at the zoo and going into the home of the zookeeper so they can sleep in his bed.
Ew.]
Well, even though I couldn't make it to the end for Timmy, here's where the story was headed.
"The cat was acting totes wired
But Sally and Timmy were really tired.
They wanted the fun, but knew they had a big day ahead
So they said, 'hey cat, come back tomorrow,
we're gonna go to bed.'"
"But what about your mother?
Don't you want to say hi when she gets in?"
"No," said Sally,
"She'll probably be surly, and will
undoubtedly be reeking of gin."
So the Cat sighed, and almost cried.
"No one every wants to play me!
This is why I resort to breaking and entering!"
Sally and her brother just shuffled up the stairs.
Hardened by life as latchkey children,
they just yelled back, "Dude, who cares?"
As they tucked themselves soundly in their own beds,
The cat sat in the living room,
balancing the fish bowl on his head.
He then went searching in the cupboards, for a little late-night nip
As tears poured down his cheeks, he said,
"Step 13--it's okay if I have one little sip..."
THE END.
Take that, Seuss!
Dude, he so has an addiction.
*Name has been changed to protect the innocent Caucasian youth.
**How do you like them apples?! Massa did the cookin' while Sojo did the drankin'!
^If it makes you uncomfortable, you can just call him "editor-in-chief," which I guess is "technically his title."
