“Thriller” is Wrecking My Life

Yes, I am referring to “Thriller,” the 1983 Michael Jackson thirteen-minute music video where zombies and werewolves stalk a young woman in heels.

I’m using a cartoon instead of a real pic from the video in case she comes across the article when she’s older and has realized her mom talks about her on the internet. I don’t want her to relapse and come home from college to get in my bed.

It’s close to midnight and something small and terrified is lurking by my bed. It’s my seven year-old. She’s been showing up every night ‘round this hour for a month, since I was dumb enough to let her watch the Thriller video.

Sure, this is an example of my sub-par parenting, but to be fair, there was a reason we introduced her to the iconic Thriller video. The dance is notorious and delicious and has been done by flash mobs and mass groups of prisoners and students alike, and this Halloween, by my son’s fifth grade class. SO we were showing his little sister what the hype was about, and now she‘s terrified to pee alone, and cannot sleep in her own damned bed.

Sure, love, I’ll come with you to the bathroom even when there’s the foulest stench in the air. And, please don’t be afraid of your dog. He’s still just your big, dumb greyhound, not one of the hounds of hell. Come on, child, get in. Now is the time for you and I to cuddle close together, yeah, (fine) all through the night.

And husband? I do have a soul for getting down, but it’s just gonna have to wait until there’s not a kid in our bed, ooh, ooh, yeah. Sigh.