Like son, like mother.
You can shake the trees on Animal Crossing, but the stuff that falls out always lands near the trunk.
These days, my son spends an inordinate amount of time playing this addicting game called Animal Crossing for the Wii. He fishes, picks up odd knick knacks from the locals (one, a potted plant, looks like a marijuana bush—not that I’d know what that looks like), and shakes trees for fruit to sell at Tom Nook’s store (Now if only I could get him to pick up his clothes).
Even as the microwave flashed (more likely the power had gone out again), the glazed look in his eye and an absent smile on his kid-lips reflected the eerie, blue glow from the television. He was designing a shirt for the older boy’s character. The medium-blue and green orb showed that the front of the shirt design was, in fact, a cartoon globe. The back of the shirt design housed the vintage 70’s balloon letters for the band YES.
Suddenly, he jumped up and ran to the backyard to find out where our pet dog had taken his underwear (don’t ask). On his way out the door, he shoved the wii-mote into my hand.
In that brief time, a squirrel named Squinky came to talk to my character. I sighed, but decided to talk to the character who looked so happy and friendly. The little rapscallion proceeded to punctuate even the most innocent phrases with the word “Dummy.” Finally, after hearing, “Isn’t this a beautiful evening, Dummy?” one too many times, I yelled to the boy, “Hey! This animal keeps calling me ‘Dummy’!”
“I did that!” my son beamed, walking back into the room, a pair of reclaimed undergarments in his hand (don’t ask). “You can make the animals say stuff at the end of phrases!” He chuckled, because kids always think they’re clever that way.
After an hour more of parental wii research (hey. It’s my obligation), I eventually rescinded my control of the game, saved the three shirts I designed with smiling bits of fruit on them, and went back to reading. Son caught a few extra fish to pay off the additions to our little Animal Crossing houses, and was once again in the chair with a dazed look on his face, wending his way through a cartoon world. The dog gleefully chewed underpants nearby (don’t ask).
“Hey!” he called out a few minutes later. “Why does this animal tell me to ‘stick it!’ in every sentence?”
Hey. I don’t kiss and tell.