(Bad blogger! This post has come about as a direct result of being guilted into it by compadres on Facebook. Let’s hear it for the Intar Tubez.)
The illustrious Christmas photoblog is forthcoming as soon as I get off my (increasingly paunchy but still awesome) butt and finish adjusting the photos.
I’ve noticed that watching the emergence of humor in your own progeny is somewhat akin to watching the birth of a giraffe on Animal Planet. It takes a while to come out, is a little gawky and shaky at first, and really doesn’t move that well even after it gets up on all legs. But even with all that, it’s still a freakin’ miracle.
Much of this, naturally, I blame on Papa Giraffe and the religio-historic inbreeding which impedes the free expression of preternaturally funny ideas. (You’ve heard the old joke — “Why don’t Mennonites tell jokes well timing?”) It doesn’t help that I get much of MY humor from Daudy Giraffe, and believe me, I will be frequently apologizing to my children in the future for passing on THAT gene.
So, if we stretch that metaphor to its breaking point, Norah Giraffe is standing, but is juuuuust a little shy of reaching the bottom-most acacia leaves, if you catch my meaning. She thinks she’s one funny giraffe (and she IS), but it’s probably not quite in the way she has in mind.
But she loves loves loves to tell jokes. And this being central Africa, all of her jokes are about elephants. Or as she calls them, “EFFEFANTS.” It all started (cue “Waynes World” flashback sound — diddly-doot, diddly-doot, diddly-doot) when my mother taught Norah the following elephant joke:
Why did the elephant put ketchup in his belly-button?
So he could lie on his back and eat french fries.
Funny! I know! And Norah glommed onto it like a giraffe to… uh… yeah, whatevertheheck else giraffes eat. So now she tells jokes. LOTS of jokes. And they all involve effefants. And end with effluent laughter.
WHYYYYY did the effefant get into the car and go to school?
Because he wanted to go to school! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!
That was funny, Norah!
And WHYYYYY did the effefant climb a tree?
Because he wanted to go way up high! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!
Good one!
And WHYYYYY did the effefant… uh, get out of her jammies and wear a Thomas shirt and go to Granna’s house and… have fun playing with Granna?
Because she wanted to have a fun day! HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!!
Huh.
And WHYYYY did the effefant…
Well, you get the idea. It can get a little old after about eight jokes or so. In musical terms, it’s a bit like listening to a theme-and-variations by Carl Stamitz (shout-out to Dave Banga! Yo dawg!). But hey, far be it for me to quash humorous expression. It’s not like I”m going to be enrolling her in Last Comic Standing or anything, and it’s only a matter of time before she discovers knock-knock jokes and I start putting an ice pick to my temple, so this is all good to be going on with. In the end , it comes down to whether I’d rather live with a funny midget giraffe or a grumpy water buffalo.
I choose the giraffe.
——-
What do you get when two giraffes collide?
A giraffic jam!When does a giraffe have eight legs?
When there are two of them!Why didn’t they invite the giraffe to the party?
Because he was a pain in the neck!
Addendum: Last week, after a weekend bout of increasingly and irritatingly cute effefant jokes, I leaned down and kissed my daughter and called her “an amiable quipster.” (I often use big words with her when I don’t want to say what I really want to say.) She beamed at me and said, “Thanks, Papa. You’re a GENIUS.”
And all was peaceful on the savannah.
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This makes me yaff! –jym