I walked into the room this morning and there he was, tangled in my sheets, watching some inane Disney Channel show in the dark at an alarming decibel.
(The better for me to hear Weeds, my pretty.)
He's our early riser and I don't mind if he watches a little TV while I'm in the shower and he lets my girl sleep a little longer.
She needs it.
So, I hear some monkey/beast/muppet-wannabe giving one of those social lessons in a tone that makes my ears bleed. His pal - was it Alligator or Toad, not sure - is never invited to parties it seems because he hasn't learned the finer points of not blowing out the Birthday Muppet's candles.
The spot goes on like an afternoon special, expounding upon the woes of being that guy and offering up A, B and C pictures so the youngsters at home can, what? Shout the right answer at the TV?
And I can't help feeling old and crotchety when I think this might be better taught a party.
Zack uncurls from his blanket and asks if he gets everything ready for school, could he play Lego Jedi Star Wars for a little while this morning.
I'm ever relieved.
I didn't intend on ranting today, but sometimes I am that girl and sanctimonious muppets do me in.