By Heather O.
It all looked so innocent. The kids, the teacher, the smiles. They started a round of the ever popular “Little Bunny Fu-Fu…”, and I sat back to watch. And then, it all went wrong. Terribly, terribly wrong.
This was not Little Bunny Fu-fu as I knew it. For starters, instead of saying “Little Bunny Fu-fu”, they were saying “Little Rabbit Fu-fu”. And that rabbit was not hoppin’ through the forest, but riding through the forest. Bunnies don’t ride. They hop. HeLLO, did we not all take the same class in basic biology here, people?
It got worse. The good fairy, who is supposed to tell Fu-Fu, “I don’t want to see you /scoopin’ up the field mice and boppin’ ‘em on the head” is now saying, “I don’t like your attitude.”
What? Now there are woodland creatures with attitude? Yeah, like, whatever.
It was all I could do to stop myself from screaming, “NO! NO! It’s all wrong, wrong, WRONG I tell you! It’s little Bunny Fu-Fu. Bunny Fu-fu. BUNNY &*%*&% FU-FU! And he doesn’t have an attitude, you ignorant woman! What in the name of girls’ camp everywhere are you teaching my child?”
Much to my credit, I managed somehow to control myself, and conceal my boiling rage and indignation at this terrible lack of Fu-fu purism under a benign smile.
The worst part, though, is now it will be almost impssoible to undo my child’s errant education. Last night, as I was putting him to bed, he asked me to sing a song with him. And he requested Little Rabbit Fu-Fu. The sadist.
I started singing with him, using THE REAL WORDS, and he kept constantly interupting, saying, “No, mom, that’s not how it goes. You don’t know how it goes, ” and proceeded to parrot back the evil fake words. I gently corrected him, and he got just a little bit agitated and said, “NO, those aren’t the words, mom. You just don’t know how it really goes.”
I can’t imagine where he gets his obsession over lyrics. Sheesh, who’s this kid’s mother, anyway?
I complained to DH that they were teaching our child false lyrical doctrine at that preschool we chose. DH laughed, stopped, and then said, “You’re a little bit serious, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I am. Just a little.”
Turning back to his book he muttered, “And that’s just a little bit scary, babe.”
That is just SO typical of somebody who is not a lyrics purist. They just don’t understand the pain.
And you don’t need to thank me that you will now have the song, “Little BUNNY Fu-Fu” throbbing through your head for the rest of the day. I’m just here to serve.
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