My 2 year-old’s current obsession is the Bubble Guppies. She will watch this show for hours if I let her. Since 2 year-old’s don’t comprehend what having an idol is quite yet, I concluded my girl idolizes Molly, Gil, and the rest of the Guppies due to her severe case of BubbleGupGup Fever.
Today, as my little girl and I sat on the couch watching these human-cartoon-fish-things begin a competitive game of basketball, the show spoke to me. A cartoon half elephant/ half fish thing led a fast break down the court. The quasi-elephant slammed it home like Shawn Kemp. But not Sonics Shawn Kemp, Orlando Magic Shawn Kemp. I wasn’t impressed.
It became clear to me that if this elephant fish creepo mammalanimal could dunk on the Bubble Guppies, my daughter could do anything a Bubble Guppy does too.
After the trophy presentation, my daughter and I settled back on to the couch and popped on more Guppy goodness. It wasn’t long before the Bubble Babes n Bros made it clear what we’d be doing next.
My daughter and I hopped on my steel horse and shot down the highway like a couple of wanted cowboys. Six hours and 350 miles later, we arrived at the closest farm to my place.
My daughter asked if we could find some friendlier animals. I let her know that the Guppies never did that so absolutely not… I finally changed my mind after I received my 10th or 11th horse fly bite from standing by the rooster.
As I was eyeballing the barnyard for our next guest Guppy gig, 100 or so yards away, I saw what I thought were members of an 80’s Hair Metal cover band. We decided to head over to check out the show.
Next, we headed towards a rustling in the bushes around the corner…
We headed onward and I mentioned to my daughter that we needed to stay focused on doing everything a Bubble Guppy would do, not continue to visit these freakbag animals in cages. It was then that I heard the loud applause of an adoring crowd, coming from the area of the barnyard’s ampitheatre. We headed over.
I told my daughter it was time to go. I was emotionally drained from witnessing Billy Gruff’s performance. My daughter told me “one sec,” then paused in the exiting concourse to comfort a saddened rabbit who also saw the show.
We exited the barnyard, hopped back on to my steel horse and cranked up some Bon Jovi. We rifled down the interstate on our 350 mile journey back to the big city.
Jon Bon’s music inspired us to do what we had to do when we got home — demolish the Bubble Guppies at their own game, and take on any other challengers who felt like trying my multi-talented daughter.
Next up: a snare-snappin’, high-hat tappin’, cymbal crashin’ drum-off between my daughter and that one purple Bubble Guppy who no one likes and who has four lines a season.
There was a fast paced knock at the front door. I yelled-out “DOOR’S OPEN! IF IT AIN’T OUR PIZZA, GO AWAY!” It wasn’t our pizza, it was Metallica’s Lars Ulrich. Immediately I knew where this was going.
BUT right before my daughter threw in the towel and accepted her L, the floors started to shake. Then it got so loud that we thought we were inside of a tornado. My front door came crashing down and in came what looked like a late-1980’s era Cher riding the Devil’s Harley.
My daughter and I knew we had to snap back to reality. We knew we couldn’t play make-believe about us being REAL Guppies forever. However, we also both knew something far more important — my daughter is way more capable and talented than all six current Bubble Guppies on salary, and that also includes Stylie who once had a concert in Big Bubble City…
A few minutes later, while I was installing my front door back on to the hinges, my daughter came over and gave me a hug. She whispered into my ear the words that I had been waiting all day to hear — “we might not be real Bubble Guppies, Dadio, but I’ve got the realest Dad out of every Guppy in the sea. Night-night.”
“Don’t let the bed bugs bite, sweetiepie,” I replied. “But if they do start biting you, wake me up immediately so I can call an exterminator to tent the house, and burn all of our clothing and beds.”
She playfully shouted back “I already know the drill, Father,” then flipped off the lights and left me in the pitch black, alone, to repair our front door that Tommy Lee broke down.
What. A. Day.
This post was written by G.W.P. on March 5th, 2020 by using pictures and some of the day’s events on — Sunday, April 7th, 2019 — to reflect on.