Hangin' with Skippy and Doo-dah

Skippy and Doo-dah rolled into town the other day, and have kept Miss Tiff busy for quite a while. Among her other duties, Miss Tiff had to type and print and collate and transcribe and listen and talk and capture and process and dress nicely. This made Miss Tiff very very tired.

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Skippy and Doo-dah remind Miss Tiff of “Pinky and the Brain,” with the smaller one being the more intensely intelligent of the two and the larger one, while still smart (there goes the Pinky and the Brain analogy), is not as verbal (in fact, not really terribly gifted verbally at all, given the stammer that hinders the expostulation of nearly every single word uttered from his resonant voice box).

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Skippy and Doo-dah live life at a furiously mentally challenging pace, harboring vast stores of data in their crania that are accessible to their nimble intelligence at any given moment. When Skippy talks it sounds like he’s reading from prepared notes, even if there aren’t any, which Miss Tiff thinks is an amazing feat. Doo-dah can anticipate needs for data display like a savant, throwing up screens full of information and ferreting out point and counterpoint like he’s telling us in what direction we can find the sky. This smoking-hot smarty-pantsedness makes Tiffy feel like the moronic spawn of a cretin and a halfwit who was raised by flatworms under a boulder in a dampish forest in a part of the world that has yet to be discovered by modern man.

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Skippy and Doo-dah like to have Miss Tiff around, all the time. Miss Tiff, while flattered, thinks this is kind of odd, especially when Skippy and Doo-dah don’t seem to actually know she’s in the room. Miss Tiff wonders if Skippy and Doo-dah feel that because they’re paying for her time that she ought to give them her full attention while they’re in town. Miss Tiff has to do battle with her desire to get other things done while Skippy and Doo-dah are around, because she is used to multi-tasking, which means not focusing on stuff for a loooong time, like Skippy and Doo-dah want her to do.

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Skippy and Doo-dah drag Tiffy all over in their shiny white van that smells of new car, which is good, and almost like the white steed on which she always thought her Prince would come, but they make her sit in the back, which makes her feels like someone’s kid, because Miss Tiffy is used to driving, not being driven. Miss Tiff wonders, while in the back of the new white van, what would happen if they were suddenly to overturn on the highway while going 70 miles an hour. How would the police and ambulance crews dissect her splattered remains from those of Skippy and Doo-dah and their sometime-sidekick Scruffy? Would part of her always be intermingled with their corporeal or (shudder) spiritual presence? Would her cremains contain the stain of their comingled funky aura for perpetuity? Miss Tiff shivers slightly in the backset of the new white van and tries to think of something better than being greasily smeared along the pavement of the Durham Freeway with Skippy, Doo-dah, and Scruffy.

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Skippy and Doo-dah do not know that Miss Tiff wrote most of this while they were talking about minor medical events at ten after 5 on a Tuesday evening. Skippy and Doo-dah must have thought she wass taking notes of their important medical conversation. Skippy and Doo-dah believed, Tiff was sure, that she hung on every gold-dipped syllable that emanated from their voluble pie-holes. They would have been very wrong in this belief, but Miss TIff is much too much of a lady to tell them this.

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Skippy and Doo-dah, at long last, left town at 1:30 on Wednesday the 24th of May. Miss Tiff is happy to inform you that she is very very pleased at this turn of events.