My Zoolander Trigger

Ever watch Zoolander?   The villain implants a super secret device in the hero’s brain that is set to trigger the hero to kill someone.

I think I have that implant.

I imagine that my nemesis is quite the braniac, too.  Most likely blonde, bubbly and highly attractive.  Since I seem to prefer natural fibers, I’m going to assume that she prefers leather.  Obviously.

I’m also thinking in the made for silver screen version, I’d be Lara Craft and she’d be that girl from Legally Blonde.

Anyway, Reese, er, my nemesis has come up with a genius catch phrase that triggers my destructive behavior.  But she’s crafty, as Luke Wilson can attest.  There will be no assassinations in this plot line.

Just… big sighs of frustration.

The exact difference in my implant’s functionality is that instead of trying to off a famous person or something when my trigger is spoken, I just end up eating an entire box of Oreo cookies in a state of total despair and passive anger.  Depending on what famous person we’re talking about here, I think I got the raw end of the deal.

Except there is Oreo cookie eating involved, so maybe not.

Trigger phrase: What are we going to do NOW?

This morning, we went to the park.  I hadn’t exited the freaking car before the dreaded trigger came out of the five year old’s mouth.  Also, did I mention that the twenty month old is at the parrot stage of development?  Oh, yes.

So it went like this:

What are we going to do, now?
Wha-our-we-goondoo, now?

And the thing is, THE THING IS… we do the same things every.single.day.

Goodness, child, were you not here yesterday when we did the same exact thing? Are you an alien clone that has replaced the child who has been living with me day after day?

The books told me to create consistency because I assumed they were trying to save my sanity by not making me answer this question over and over and over and OVER again.  As we all know, the books are stupid, and I should have just been watching “Buffy” reruns this whole time.  At least, my kids would know what to do when they see a vampire.  And my husband would know what to do when our daughter brought home a broodingly handsome vampire with a soul.

Come on in.  We’re having stake for dinner, son.

So, yeah, back to “what are we going to do now/whaa-our-we-goondoo, now?”

I was asked twice before the park.

I was asked twice after the park.

I was asked twice before lunch.

I was asked twice after lunch.

I was asked twice before the art project which involved me splattering paint all over a really big piece of paper and telling them they could dance in the paint.

I was asked this after splattering paint all over a really big piece of paper and telling them they could dance in the paint.

I was asked this during an impromptu “quiet time” aimed at just getting the madness to stop.

I was also asked in a house, in a box, with a mouse and with a fox.  On a plane, in a train, on a boat, and yes, my friends, with a goat.

My answers don’t change that much.

I mean, it’s not like I’m in an RV touring the country and we’re stopping somewhere new and exciting every single day while my best friend pines away from loneliness and a total lack of cute hat and shoe envy.

The questions would be fiiiine. Except, sometimes.

I’d like to just not be the one that has to know.

You know?