Google thinks I know, "Why do kangaroos hate birthday parties?" But I don't know why those snitty kangaroos are haters and such party downers. It might have something to do with the requisite silly hats and their inability to blow out little candles, I suppose. Or maybe they're sick of trying to find something nice to wear that slims the pouch. Or perhaps they age in some incremental "Kangaroo Years" that are like 80-to-1 with Human Years, and they just don't want to be reminded that it's that time of year again, thank you very much. But, honestly, who worries about this?
And why does Google think I could answer this little animal psychology mystery? Am I a zoo veterinarian? Am I a psychologist? Do I play a lab-tester-of-animals on TV? No, no, and no. And yet, questions about kangaroos continue to plague this blog.
"Do kangaroos hibernate?" A simple yes-no question I cannot answer.
"How do kangaroos hibernate?" A more complex question with a premise that (a) they do hibernate in the first place; and (b) I live or work in such close proximity to kangaroos that even in a martini-laden state, I can recite facts about kangaroo lifecycles that would stun a marsupiologist. Or whatever those kangaroo scientists are called. Google couldn't tell me the name for a scientist who studies kangaroos. Which doesn't really explain why all the kangaroo questions are coming to me, only why they aren't going to anyone else in particular.
Someone landed here searching for kangaroo exercise boots. And since I don't even know if these are boots I could wear that would make me jump like a kangaroo, or boots a kangaroo would wear to work out at the gym (they do box, right?), I can't be of much help on this one. Except to say that if kangaroos don't like party hats, what makes you think they'll enjoy wearing boots?
And here's the thing: it's not only kangaroos I supposedly know a lot about. It's a veritable zoo here at Chez MommyTime.
Do giraffes dream? I certainly hope so. They sure don't make any kinds of noise. And if they don't talk, and they don't dream? Their lives must be the epitome of boring.
Can you help me locate a superhero giraffe? They can be elusive. My only advice is never to trust a superhero giraffe in a cape. What with the long long legs and the long long neck, that's just a recipe for disaster, not rescue.
how do giraffes respond -- an existential question that ended with no punctuation. I don't know what I'm supposed to theorize their response TO. I might answer: "ommmmmmm." That is, if they could talk. Or meditate.
Perhaps my favorite question, moving on to the next animal, is: Don’t you ever feel like a martini napkin dog? To which I can only respond: Yes. All the time. Even though I don't know whether this is a dog printed on a martini napkin (flattened, barkless, small and insignificant), or a martini one gives to a "napkin dog" (you know, like our Dog: one who comes through and cleans up whatever gets spilled). In either case, sometimes I am the one; other times I want the other. This is all very deep. And makes me want a martini.
Only to face steep competition from the vanilla stoli
And once we move on to alcoholic cats with top shelf liquor tastes, well, it all goes down hill quick. We have the inane: Furry friends to make but do not involve sitting -- who sitting? you sitting? friends sitting? do you want your friends never to sit? never to have to learn to sit? I feel drunk right along with Lucky Cat on this one.
And we have the naughty: me wanna play dog. Frankly, me wanna play grammarian. Or me wanna play something a whole heck of a lot hotter than DOG, I'll tell you that.
But that's not a post for a Monday morning on a nice little blog by a mother of a toddler and a preschooler. Even if that blog does get searched all the time for lovely thighs and perfect thighs and thighs that don't touch.
And once for Japanese teenie bopper tramp -- who certainly has thighs that don't touch. I know that without even seeing her.
All I can say to the many many many searchers desperately seeking perfect thighs who land here on a daily basis is: don't let your thighs get you down. And if they do, perhaps you'd like to invest in a grumpy kangaroo wearing a pair of exercise boots who would give you a run for your money? If nothing else, the exercise should thin your thighs. Because, sadly, that's about as close to knowing how to land perfect thighs that I'm ever going to get. But if you find that little formula on some other blog, would you come back here and share the wealth? Pretty please.
And if all else fails, buy boardshorts instead of a bikini for this summer. But whatever you do, protest bossy boardshorts. No one should have to put up with bossy boardshorts. A kangaroo sure wouldn't. So why should you?
Click here for more laughs today -- and, who knows, perhaps even animals that make sense.