Like a moth guarding its Olympic flame I waited, and waited and waited. When finally I realized the sad truth, TINKIE WINKIE WASN’T COMING!
All I wanted for my fourth birthday was to see HIM. I was devastated! I didn’t eat (for a whole 10 minutes). I didn’t sleep (I closed my eyes and when I opened them it was morning). But more importantly I was sick for reasons the doctors couldn’t explain.
And it started out as a shudder every time I saw the PBS logo. But it slowly developed into a scream, and worse, seizures.
Until one day when I broke the television, my parents had decided that enough was absolutely enough. They got me some psychiatric assistance.
They told me I was going to the doctor as we stepped into our old, white mini-van. I didn’t put up much of a fight to leave, seeing as I was in the middle of a cold, spiraling depression.
On the drive there, I remember spotting an almost purplish cloud, which appeared to be in the shaped of someone in his or her pajamas, and with a goofy looking swirly stick on their head.
At the most dark, strange, and ominous doctor’s office I had ever seen, (which isn’t saying too much keeping in mind that I was four at the time) emerged from the shadows a rather sketchy looking figure with a very distinct mustache. He was referred to by my parents and himself only as Toboggans.
After talking with my parent for a short while, he approached me. He asked my name, how old I was, and how my day went. He used a lot of words I didn’t understand, but I only stared off into space.
I remember his exact words, they still taste horrible whenever I shoot them from my lips. “Your son is a very strange boy.”
My mother collapsed in despair, and my father now became the one staring off into space. For they knew I had a very unusual future in store for me, and it was too much for them to take. So they didn’t.
They dropped me in a basket and dropped that basket on the doorstep of a computer lab where I spent my childhood learning the ways of humor blogging.
