Last night A. brought home a sock puppet she made at camp. When I referred to it as “her,” I was sorely rebuked. “Him” fared no better. The creature, you see, “is an it.” A. named it Wikipedia, but do not be misled into believing that this name signals some sort of relationship to the collaborative online encylopedia.
No, the puppet Wikipedia is, judging from the number of phone calls we received from it before and throughout dinner last night, a persistent telemarketer that will, with or without your consent, bestow upon you a “free information service” in exchange for the mere cost of shipping and handling (due in “three easy installments of $13.77”). When Max “tracked down the 800 number” and tried to cancel the service, the “recordings” he reached were either inaudible (due to giggles or “a bad connection”) or pitched in perfect tones of corporate illogic.
So we’re having fun at home. Things at work have reached a fever pitch. And I continue to await the arrival of that typewriter I mentioned last week. Here’s what it’s supposed to look like: