Dinner and a show

Apparently I'm raising a couple of budding comics. At dinner the other night, we were treated to a dry run of their new routine, much to the amusement of our dinner guests. I'm sure Rick and Nicole will attest to the overall hilarity of the act. Me, I'm still trying to figure out the finer points of their humor.

Big Dog: How did the monster get on the roof?
Me: I don't know, how?
BD: With their fingers! (pause) Is that funny?
Me: Uh, sure. More odd than funny, but sure, we'll say funny.
Bolstered by the success of his first joke he tries another.
BD: Why did the book cross the road?
Me: No idea.
BD:--it wanted to go to the movies!
He promptly dissolves into laughter.
Me: Uh, ok. I'm not sure I get that one.
BD: the movies!
I still don't get it, so he pitches another one.
BD: Why did the door cross the road
Me: Don't know. Why?
BD: it wanted to go to the movies!
While I'm working this one out, Little Dog decides he needs to get in on the act.
Little Dog: How did the ghost get in here? (brief pause) The Closet! (insane toddler laughter)
Mr. Dog: Big Dog, why don't you tell Nicole your knock knock joke.
BD: OK! (eyes gleaming with excitement!) Knock knock
Nicole: Who's there?
BD: Banana
Nicole: Banana who?
BD: Knock knock
Nicole: Who's there?
BD: Banana
Nicole: Banana who?
BD: Knock knock
Nicole: Who's there?
BD: Orange
Nicole: Orange Who?
BD: Orange you glad I didn't say banana?
Me: Here let me teach you one. Knock knock.
BD: Who's there
Me: Boo
BD: Boo Who
Me: Aw, don't cry!
(much laughter)
Big Dog turns to Nicole: Knock knock
Nicole: Who's there?
BD: Boo
(as if we don't immediately see where this is going) Nicole: Boo Who?
BD: Aw, don't cry.
(more laughter)
BD again to Nicole: Knock knock
Nicole: Who's there
BD: Boo
Nicole: Boo Who?
BD: Aw, come on, don't cry
Nicole: nice, he's improvising.
BD, again to Nicole: Knock knock
Nicole: Who's there?
Little Dog, interrupting: How did the ghost get in here?...the closet!
Nicole to Big Dog: Let me teach you one. Knock knock
BD: Who's there?
Nicole: Who
BD: Banana
Nicole: No, you say who?
BD: Banana who?
Nicole: No, I say "Who" you say "Who who?"
BD: Who's there?
Nicole: Who
BD: No, I said that.
Nicole: you say "who who"
BD: Who who who?
Nicole: There's an owl in here
BD: (looking puzzled) Who?
Mr. Dog, trying to get in on the joke telling action: Knock knock
BD: Who's there
Mr. Dog: Boo Who
Little Dog: Don't cry
Mr. Dog: No, you say Boo Who who?
BD: Boo Who who?
Mr. Dog: Oooh a ghost owl!
Little Dog, perking up at the mention of ghosts: How did the ghost get in here?....the closet!
(insane toddler laughter)
Big Dog: Knock knock
Nicole: Who's there?
BD: Boo
Nicole: Boo who?
BD: Don't cry!
Little Dog decides he has taken the wrong joke telling approach for this audience, and tries again.
LD: Knock knock
Me: Who's there?
LD: Banana
Me: Banana who?
LD: Orange
Me: Orange who?
LD: Milk
Me: Ok, you don't get this joke do you?
LD: Water
And so went my evening. Fortunately there was an ample supply of wine.

All we need are the $12 cocktails

Sometimes I feel like I am the straight man for the boys' comedy. I set them up and they serve up a big punchline. Maybe I get to be the butt of the jokes because I have a "humongous bottom," but that's another post. All we need to make this comedy act complete is a rim shot and a big round of applause.

Take for example this weekend. Little Dog had raided the toys at Grandma and Grandpa's house and was running around "fixing" things with the toy drill. He was having one hell of a time, but many of the things he wanted fix were things I had previously said were hands off for little boys. (Yeah, he's working the system, big time) So instead of continuing to say "no" for the 674th time, I changed tactics. Those parenting experts always tell frazzled parents to try diverting attention from what you don't want them to do and point them in the direction of something that you do want them to do, or at least don't care if they do, right? So I throw out a suggestion, "Hey Little Dog, my foot is broken, can you fix my foot?"
He runs right over, and with a little encouragement, mostly in the form of funny noises and silly faces while he repairs my imaginary damage, he gets into my alternative game. First he fixes the foot, then my wrist, my knees, my ear, my nose. You get the idea. We're giggling and for once those child rearing experts seem to have hit on something with this diversion concept.

After a bit we're making so much noise with our giggles and repair sounds, Big Dog decides to check out the action. With Hot Wheels in hand, he surveys the scene. "Little Dog is fixing your broken down mama," I explain. Then Big Dog, feeling the need to get in on the act, runs his car across my collar bones. "Here mommy, I'm going to fix you too!" After the car runs back and forth a few times, he sits back, satisfied with his work and exclaims, "See mommy, I fixed your boobs!"

Ba-Dum-BUM! Thank you, thank you. Don't forget to tip your servers!
Maybe I should self-impose a two drink minimum.