Pikawatchamacallit

Today Rhiannon found a brand new sticker book in the parking lot. She loves sticker books. She loves to peel each sticker out one-by-one, decorating the cover art with the tiny adhesive things, making sticker-pictures on blank, white paper (what we used to call "typing paper" back in the day), of princesses, weddings, and, more recently, of corpse brides. Nothing quite says "sticker fun" like a reanimated jilted lover left at the altar and later left for dead. But wait, I am mixing metaphors, media, and genres here. Back to the business at hand.

The sticker book that Rhiannon recovered was for Pokemon, or, more specifically, for Pikachu, one of Japan's subtle responses to the U.S. market in retaliation for Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Except this time, it's my kid's head that's getting irradiated via the tube courtesy of the most viral marketing tool ever devised. Pikachu looks like this (for the one reader who does in fact live in a cave and likes it that way):

So tonight Rhiannon gets out her new sticker book and looks at the cover. She then looks at me. Back at the cover. Back at me.

"Dad?" she asks.

"Yep."

"I don't know what this is. It's half-cat...half-squirrel...and half every other animal I can think of. Cheetah cheeks. WTF?"

Okay, okay, I added the "wtf" business, but she did say all the rest. And truthfully, Rhiannon, I haven't a clue what that Pikachu is either. But I do know that you could stand to work on your fractions. What are they teaching you in kindergarten anyway?

Rhiannon. Cute like Yogi Berra.

Andrew (Papa)