Puzzling

After a dark, mesmerizing two hour drive, I am now in Eugene. And having spent a fairly quiet weekend with my son, there's a major shock when I walk through the door: my future step-daughter, Siobhan. I am dead serious when I say that she has more goofy energy than the three stooges put together. She bonks herself on the head and buckles into the chair drooling with laughter. She has minute long monologues consisting entirely of words that rhyme with jingle then rolls on the floor. She dances. She flaps her arms and runs across the room singing "koo-koo, koo-koo." The creature that resembles her the most is the early Daffy Duck, that bouncing, hooting, sputtering, blathering buffoon. It's funny to watch, and really you have to appreciate her "creative spurts." Daffy Duck ain't got nothing on her.

What's worse is my future wife says she only does this when I show up. Using familial math, that makes me a bad influence. Maybe if I painted myself green, bounced around, stood on my head, did moose mating calls while wearing a grass skirt, Siobhan would calm down and be pleasant. Maybe my role here is to be a bad example: a sort of foil. If I transformed into a circus clown on cocaine, she might become an angelic little girl.

Okay: I lie. She's really a fantastic kid. She's just got that ability we all lose as we get older to make yourself drunk on the mere presence of other people. It's a wonderful ability unless you're in a meeting with million dollar stake holders. The tie-and-khakis business world doesn't do Daffy.