Friday, October 01, 2004

Purple Haze

Looking ahead to my daughter’s wedding day, I can picture her standing under the chupah with a giant purple dinosaur in a yarmulke. “Barney, I know what a menchosaurus you are,” I’ll say to my new dino-in-law, my arm around his puffy shoulders, “but if you treat my daughter poorly, I swear to God I’ll cut up your friends B.J. and Baby Bop and feed them to you for breakfast. Coppice?”

My daughter is only 19 months old, but a lifetime of wedded bliss with Barney is the only imaginable future for her. Barney is the first word out of her mouth each morning. At night, when I carry her into her room and she realizes she’s bound for the crib, she whimpers, “Daddy, Barney. Barney. Pweese. Barney.” When her pleading and kvetching breaks Hot Wife and me down far enough, we reach for one of the easily identifiable white VHS tapes, pop it into the VCR and Adorable Daughter squeals with dino-delight: “Barney. BARNEY! BAR-NEE-HEE-HEEEE!”

This is sad and psychotic, but I fantasize that I will have Barney killed before he has a chance to whisk my precious daughter away and subject her to a lifetime of rainbows and gumdrops. I hate that Barney is always so happy (twenty bucks says he’s bipolar). I hate that he’s always using words like “stupendous” and “teee-riffic.” Call me paranoid, but I don’t think it’s right for someone who hangs around kids all the time and whose entire species died violently, what?, 50 million years ago to be so gleeful and bouncy. Didn’t he watch the debate? The world is going to shit, quicklike.

Hot Wife and I have tried virtually everything to distract Adorable Daughter from her infatuation. While Dora The Explorer has provided temporary relief (although I still don’t get why Dora has to yell all the time – “Salta! Say ‘Salta!’”), it’s clear that Adorable Daughter has one true love (well, two if you count black beans). The Wiggles can’t sing to her, Elmo’s testosterone-deficient high pitch can’t touch her, and the Teletubbies don’t even faze her. So instead of trying to distract her, I’m devising a plan to take Barney out before he takes my baby girl away from me and makes her part of his twisted dinoworld.

My plan is as follows:

I’ve sent a letter to the curator of Jurassic Park, where the real dinosaurs chill. Shortly before he proposes, I will suggest to Barney that he (it?) and I take a short father/dino-in-law weekend trip to this cozy, off-the-beaten-path island I know of. We’ll do some fishing. Play some golf. Throw down a few brews. At night, after Barney has guzzled one too many Michelob Ultras and is in the throes of a drunken slumber, I’ll sound the predetermined secret whistle that summons the velociraptors into his cabin to tear that big purple bastard limb from limb. And I will slip each of them a C-note and tell them they’ve never met me.

Adorable Daughter will no doubt be an emotional wreck from the “camping accident” that takes Barney from her, but I will assure her that it was for the best. And then I will introduce her to a rich, handsome, single doctor.


At 7:45 PM, Blogger jennifer maniatis said...

Danny, please don't take Barney out. What am I going to do when Peter has temper tantrums and the only thing that calms him down is the purple dinosaur? You are setting yourself and your daughter up for years of therapy. The feelings are only temporary - they will pass. I loved this story!


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