Now that’s what I don’t call a hairy situation


Every night, before she officially gets in the bed, I lay on the couch with Gabby to watch some TV. Usually we watch cartoons, but lately I’ve been wanting to get my NBA Playoffs on. And Gabby will have none of it. Such as last night.

ME: Wanna watch TV, Gabby?

GABBY: Uh-huh. I wanna watch cartoons.

ME: Well, let daddy watch just a little bit of the basketball game, okay?

(Turns channel to Piston-Celtics, Game 2. Tipoff about to take place)

GABBY Nooooooo! No basketball! I want to watch cartoons!

ME Let me just watch a little, okay?

(Suddenly the screen is filled with a Celtic close up. I think quick and try to mollify Gabby)

ME: Look! His name is Kevin Garnett. Daddy likes Kevin Garnett.

GABBY: (Silent for a moment) He don’t have any hair, da-da. He don’t have any hair.

ME: Nope. No he don’t.

(Camera now pans out to Celtics and Pistons players gathering for tipoff, exchanging pounds and hugs)

GABBY: He don’t have any hair either. And he don’t have any hair! …. How come they don’t have any hair, da-da?

ME: (First thing that comes to mind) They cut it so they won’t have hair in their eyes.


For the rest of what little of the game she lets me watch, she points out every player “with no hair, da-da.” How come she never points that out during this show?


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