I rented this video of cartoons for The Dormouse and played it this morning. I can't even remember why. The worst thing about Netflix is that I put stuff into my queue for a reason: someone told me it was good, I was interested in the body of work of a particular actor, I read something about the symbolism of a scene or its groundbreaking performance and couldn't live without seeing it...

But.. I have like 50 or 60 movies waiting to be watched in my queue, so by the time I finally get a movie, I've
totally forgotten why I wanted to watch it in the first place and tend to not be in the correct frame of mind when viewing certain picks because I can't remember why on earth I would rent THAT. So with about seventy percent of the movies I watch, I end up sitting at the edge of my chair, staring at the television for two+ hours, going "Huh??!?"

It'd be different if the KingofHearts had added the choices and I could accuse him of poor taste in rental picks, but he never logs into the account. So I have only myself to blame for the veritable plethora of surprisingly bad movies I've suffered through lately. (And don't even suggest that I just send them back without watching them... I need to get my money's worth - even if it means they're only playing in the living room while I do dishes in the kitchen.)

Anyway, all that is a long explanation as to how I have no idea why I needed for The Dormouse to see these Kevin Henkes cartoons, but felt compelled to play every one of them on the DVD for her anyway.

The DVD was a series of 10 minute shorts and once each one ended, I had to queue up the next one and hit play (we thus far have not given The Dormouse opportunity to learn how the remote works and I'd like to keep it that way for at least a while longer - it the one place in my life where I can still feel in control).

In the middle of one of them, the phone rang and I got distracted by a conversation with my mother. The episode ended but I was only aware of this subconsciously, and didn't think to start the next one while I was talking. I was also able to ignore the repeated "Mom, Mom! Maaa-uuummm! MOMMY!!" protests that were rumbling up from the peanut gallery a few feet away from me as I gabbed on.

Finally, in desperation, she stood up out of her chair, marched to the television, put herself in between me and the screen, placed one hand on a hip and with the other tapped loudly on the television screen with a plastic spoon while enunciating slowly as if I only had the slimmest grasp on the English language: "FO-CUS ON THIS!!!"