Greetings, my fellow port swillers!

Middle Gel is the usual babysitter for Mrs. Robbo’s 5 y.o. God-son.  However, because the Gel and her school choir left this morning on a spring break trip to Noo Yawk City and therefor was unavailable, Mrs. R stepped up to take care of the boy in her place so that his parents could go out and catch a concert this evening.

Although Ol’ Robbo was generally successful in avoiding having to join in on such caretaking, he did manage to stumble into the library just as Mrs. R was pulling out one of the books the boy had brought along with him, The Monster At The End Of This Book It features the lovably cowardly Grover from Sesame Street, who becomes increasingly frantic at the turn of every page as he contemplates having to face said Monster.  Only at the end does he realize that it is, in fact, his own self.  Har, har.

Ol’ Robbo read this book many, many times to the Gels back in the day.  One of my (alas, unprofitable) talents is the ability to mimic voices.  And if I may say so, I do a pretty durn good Grover.  Unfortunately, however, it involves a kind of shrieking trill high up in the throat that, after a bit, gets pretty painful.   For a while there, I came to positively dread having to do it, especially when all of them were young enough that I would sometimes have to read it three times in one evening.

“Oh,” said Mrs. R tonight,  “Let’s get Uncle Robbo to read this to you.  He does it so very well!”

Well, what could I do but dust off the vocal chords and have at it.  This is what happens when you get a reputation.

Frankly, I think the boy was a bit alarumed by my histrionic shrieking at first, but after a few minutes he began to enjoy himself, and toward the end of the book was positively demanding that I “turn the page” just to see Grover’s next level of panic.

So I suppose I’ve still got it.

Nice to know, since I realize that the prospect of reading this same damned book to grandchildren is, if not immanent (God forbid),  at least on the  horizon.

On the other hand, my throat distinctly hurts again.  Nothing for it but an extra (purely medicinal, of course) glass of wine, eh?