“Honey, have you noticed lately that our kids seem obsessed with Paw Patrol?” I whispered to my lovely wife one night, while re-shelving our Paw Patrol coloring books.
“It’s funny you should mention that. They kept singing that Paw Patrol theme song tonight instead of sleeping,” replied my wife in a soft whisper, while rinsing our Paw Patrol flatware.
“In the car this afternoon too. When did they memorized the lyrics? Oh, and mother f&*%#^,” I painfully whispered as the pointy ears of Chase’s action puppy stabbed the soft spot beneath my foot.
“I have no idea, they must have dear god watch out.” whispered my frightened wife as she roller skated through the kitchen on Marshall’s firetruck, into the next room.
“Oh no honey are you OK who left these Paw Patrol crocs in the living room?” I whispered, livid, after tripping and tearing a hole in our prized canvas print, of puppies. From Paw Patrol.
“Hey good news, I found Zuma,” whispered my wife, from the closet where she landed. “Also be a dear and get me the Paw Patrol first aid kit? I’ve been accidentally stabbed by our Paw Patrol samurai sword.”
“Sure honey. You still like the Skye band-aids right?” BANG! “What was that, our Paw Patrol handgun?”
“No, just one of the Paw Patrol birthday balloons. Aw crap and now our kids are awake.”
“I’ll go get them. Whenever you’re in trouble, just yelp for help!”
“Better bring the iPad, in case we need to calm them with some PJ Mask.”