The intellectual equivalent of a ham sandwich.

The Story of Mr. Quackers

Before my wife and I moved from Houston to Colorado we were out with her folks one day. They had offered to buy us a dining room table, and we said, ‘yeah, ok.’ We probably said that more graciously, but who knows.

While at a furniture store I quickly took to wandering because … it was a furniture store.

I noticed none other than Mr. Quackers. A nice, wooden duck with clogs. How odd. I picked him up and did an old Bugs Bunny cartoon dance routine, having him dance around while I provided the music.

IMG_20171205_072041493~2My wife’s mom noticed this.

Fast forward … some amount of time. Weeks? A month plus? It’s Christmas Day! Huzzah!

It’s my wife’s family’s year and we are opening gifts. I’m slowly unwrapping this large gift, curious what it could be in such a large box, and whale … it’s … a duck? With shoes? What an odd, odd thing to get somebody. My wife’s mom has gone batty.

‘Hey … thanks!’

What on earth? I mean, I know her family recognizes that I’m a weirdo but what a truly strange shot in the dark for a gift.

You see, I had no memory of having Mr. Quackers get up and dance because I do dumb things every where I go, every day. If I had to remember all of the dumb things I do, my brain would be a complete waste of space.

To me, the fact that I opened up a (to me, at the moment) totally random duck with shoes for Christmas is very funny to me, and it makes me appreciate Mr. Quackers and my wife’s folks all the more.

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