... HI. Welcome to the other side of that embedded video. I didn't really have anything else to say, but it's hard to enclose a YouTube clip in parentheses.) Anyway, from what I've read, sometimes if you do a lot of it, you fall into what is called a "K-hole," a sort of memory blackout that leaves you unaware of anything you did (St. James recalls emerging from one and finding a note to himself that read only, "Evil must be baked at 650 degrees.")
Before Jeff and I got married, I feel into a few wedding K-holes. But those were no match for the baby K-hole I fell into last week. (Picture a pot-bellied Alice in Wonderland tumbling down the rabbit hole, only instead of chasing a rabbit she's chasing a Pop Tart, and instead of a cat she's got a "Slumber Party" double DVD of My Girl and My Girl 2 that may or may not have been purchased at a truck stop.)
It all started innocently enough. I was comparison shopping for rocking chair cushions (yeah, and I'm pretty sure it was a Friday night--this is how I do it, Montell Jordan). Then somehow I was looking at crib bedding, and then rectal thermometers, and then, through a chain of associations I an unable or unwilling to reconstruct, I became obsessed with finding a Monchhichi onesie.
Monchhichi, for the uninitiated, are a line of Japanese stuffed toy monkey dolls that became popular in the early 1980s and were marketed by Mattel. They look kind of like if Rolf from the Muppets had knocked up a Cabbage Patch Kid:
Jeff's nickname as a baby was Monchhichi, because at one day old he already had more hair than most full-grown Wookies:
I myself went for more of a Joan Jett vibe coupled with a look of thinly-veiled alarm:
Point is, there's no way around it: this kid is going to be hairy. So a tongue-in-cheek onesie seemed apt.
And yet, that doesn't explain how I quickly found myself on eBay, bidding on tiny PVC figurines made in the 1970s that feature Monchhichi characters in a variety of sports poses (one of them is just holding a baguette and wearing overalls, which is more my speed, really).
Did I mention that, at two inches tall, these are choking hazards? And that they're made from the same material responsible for sewage pipes and pleather? But they're so cute. (You should see the tugboat captain.)
Sigh. Rocking chair cushions: totally a gateway drug.