A Goofus and a Goober!
Mom thinks I'm being a "goofus" slash "goober." I'm not entirely sure what those two nouns mean. Heck, I think they might be proper nouns. So, should I capitalize them? I'm piecing together my vocabulary contextually, and sure, it's in the nascent stages, but these little slips of slang and dialect are enriching my verbal development. After all, I'd rather sound provincial than "academic." Academia and its "ivory tower" pomp is for the birds.
You're probably wondering why I'm a "goober." Well, as you might have surmised from previous posts, I've developed quite a sophisticated palate. The palette of flavors now available to me is extraordinary. (Notice the spelling/meaning differences between palate and palette. I bet Mom has to look that one up.) Ok...enough of this high-falutin writing.
Yes, I like to eat lots of different stuff. Way back when, I used to eat pureed Gerber baby foods, and they were alright. The first ingredient is water, and it took Mom a while to figure out that she was paying for tap water blended up with rotten vegetables. And, on one occasion, Gerber tried to fortify my meal with a cheap protein substitute -- a hair. Yep, Mom wrote them, and they sent us back coupons for some free food and promised to put the ladies in hair nets.
To persuade Mom not to feed me anymore of their garbage, I refused to eat the next level -- food for crawlers. Basically, instead of running the blender on high, Gerber just pushes the "mix" button. That way, there are chunks of rotten veggies, slimy noodles, and "meat" floating around in tomato-flavored tap water.
Mom finally got my drift, read the label, and decided that she'd do some real cookin' -- like the cookin' she does for Dad. I've had Hungarian goulash, cornish hens simmered in a sauce with shallots, quesadillas, tortellini.... As I have said before, Gerber's got nothin'! For breakfast, I usually start with a blueberry-bran muffin. (No laughing about the bran...A guy's gotta stay regular.) Then, I have some YoBaby Yogurt with oatmeal. For snacks, I eat bananas, Post Toasties...
Now, hold on... I'm getting to my point.... the goober point....
Yesterday, I found Mom's Food Network magazine, and I decided to put in my weekly requests. Mom usually does this, but I figured I'd help her out. I began flipping through it. Mom decided I needed help flipping the pages. Sheesh. I'm no simpleton. Anyway, I turned the page, and what did I see? Oh gosh, I must have been completely absorbed in the picture because when I zapped back to reality, I was licking the cake. That's when Mom called me a "Goober." Hold on. Mom wants to write something here because she doesn't think I will do the story justice. Apparently, I embellish too much to my benefit. [Mom here: Jack flipped through the magazine. He came to a full-page picture of a Southern Hummingbird Layered Cake, looked at the cake, pulled his face down to the page and tried to take a bite/lick the "cake."]
Ok...Jack is back. Cripes. Can't I get a word in?! So, that's apparently why I am a "goober." Trust me, if you saw this cake, you'd do the same thing. Plus, it's working for me. Mom's probably going to bake the cake. I'm trying to convince Dad that if he did this to pictures of chocolate cakes and desserts that he liked, Mom might keep more of them around.
Whoa, that's a paragraph.
Now, do you want to know why I'm a doofus? Well, apparently, I just am.
You're probably wondering why I'm a "goober." Well, as you might have surmised from previous posts, I've developed quite a sophisticated palate. The palette of flavors now available to me is extraordinary. (Notice the spelling/meaning differences between palate and palette. I bet Mom has to look that one up.) Ok...enough of this high-falutin writing.
Yes, I like to eat lots of different stuff. Way back when, I used to eat pureed Gerber baby foods, and they were alright. The first ingredient is water, and it took Mom a while to figure out that she was paying for tap water blended up with rotten vegetables. And, on one occasion, Gerber tried to fortify my meal with a cheap protein substitute -- a hair. Yep, Mom wrote them, and they sent us back coupons for some free food and promised to put the ladies in hair nets.
To persuade Mom not to feed me anymore of their garbage, I refused to eat the next level -- food for crawlers. Basically, instead of running the blender on high, Gerber just pushes the "mix" button. That way, there are chunks of rotten veggies, slimy noodles, and "meat" floating around in tomato-flavored tap water.
Mom finally got my drift, read the label, and decided that she'd do some real cookin' -- like the cookin' she does for Dad. I've had Hungarian goulash, cornish hens simmered in a sauce with shallots, quesadillas, tortellini.... As I have said before, Gerber's got nothin'! For breakfast, I usually start with a blueberry-bran muffin. (No laughing about the bran...A guy's gotta stay regular.) Then, I have some YoBaby Yogurt with oatmeal. For snacks, I eat bananas, Post Toasties...
Now, hold on... I'm getting to my point.... the goober point....
Yesterday, I found Mom's Food Network magazine, and I decided to put in my weekly requests. Mom usually does this, but I figured I'd help her out. I began flipping through it. Mom decided I needed help flipping the pages. Sheesh. I'm no simpleton. Anyway, I turned the page, and what did I see? Oh gosh, I must have been completely absorbed in the picture because when I zapped back to reality, I was licking the cake. That's when Mom called me a "Goober." Hold on. Mom wants to write something here because she doesn't think I will do the story justice. Apparently, I embellish too much to my benefit. [Mom here: Jack flipped through the magazine. He came to a full-page picture of a Southern Hummingbird Layered Cake, looked at the cake, pulled his face down to the page and tried to take a bite/lick the "cake."]
Ok...Jack is back. Cripes. Can't I get a word in?! So, that's apparently why I am a "goober." Trust me, if you saw this cake, you'd do the same thing. Plus, it's working for me. Mom's probably going to bake the cake. I'm trying to convince Dad that if he did this to pictures of chocolate cakes and desserts that he liked, Mom might keep more of them around.
Whoa, that's a paragraph.
Now, do you want to know why I'm a doofus? Well, apparently, I just am.
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