Inky was keeping Strudel company on the couch. She obviously wasn’t feeling well from her flu shot yesterday. I half-listened as she jabbered on.

“Inky and I are alike,” she said.

“Oh really?” I replied. I can do three-year-old jabber in my sleep. Throw in some “you don’t says” and some “I did not know thats” and you’re good to go.

“We are the same because Inky is a mammal and I am a mammal.”

Wait, wut?

“How do you know Inky is a mammal?” I said.

“Because she is, Mom!”

“Who told you about mammals?”

“Inky did,” she said.

Of course.

In Other News

Because I like me some November hibernation, I like to stay home on Fridays and watch new television that I have acquired through non-pernicious means. My big stockpile of How I Met Your Mother, Life on Mars, Dexter, and Top Chef have all gotten eated for the time being by Hester Prynne. Looks like tonight I am going to be watching Doogie Howser, MD.

Thanks to Pootie Tang and Dr. Horrible I have been on a huge NPH jag. I realized this afternoon why I never watched Doogie Howser when I was a kid: NPH is blonde, and blondes are invisible to me. This also explains why my childhood BFF adored ‘ol Doogie and what’s-his-bucket from Silver Spoons. She loved blondes. But I am enjoying the hell out of it in that classique 90210 way. So wrong, and yet so right.