My Takes

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Sleeping With Furby

Feeding Furby via iphone

Feeding Furby via iphone

You all know what a Furby is, right?  If you do, then you know how darn irritating they can become.  If you don’t, it is basically a robotic toy resembling a hamster crossed with an owl.  Furbies speak Furbish at first then learn to  speak English over time.

Santa, aka my wife, got the boys a much-requested Furby as one of their Christmas presents.  I was almost as excited as they were as I had heard so much about them but never really saw one up close.  Some years ago, Furbies were the most sought-after gifts for Christmas and caused pandemonium in stores as they quickly become a hard to get or even impossible to get, item.

Furby’s novelty wore off fast when I realized that he did not come with a button of any kind so his annoying voice could not be turned down or turned off.  His bright eyes lit up like headlights on a car were also not fun at night. Yep, poor Furby outgrew his welcome very fast.  At least in my opinion. Furby can start a conversation at the slightest provocation and sometimes without any provocation.  Reminds you of that annoying drunk girl at the bar that never stops talking, doesn’t it? (Note that some girls don’t have to be drunk or at the bar to be like that).

Last night, while enjoying some REM sleep, I changed position and immediately awoke because of something hard jabbing into my head.  I reached under the pillow and my searching hand was greeted by, yes, Furby himself!  The boys must have hidden him there.  Now what?  If I move him too much, he will start squawking.  The mischievous man in me made me take him out from under my pillow and slowly, very slowly, placed him underneath my wife’s.  Well the little robot did not take kindly to this intrusion. He was not happy with being evicted.  He started insulting me in Furbish.  Letting me know how rude I was to interrupt his beauty rest. (Not sure how beautiful a robotic hamster owl can become).  Don’t ask me how I knew he was insulting me, I just knew.   I didn’t need to speak Furbish to know when I’m being berated.  Even while partially muffled by her pillow, his rants woke up up the wife and she grabbed him and placed him on her dresser which he used as a pulpit to deliver his scathing sermon.  He looked at us with his headlight-gaze and we knew immediately that while Mr. Furby was thus engaged, there would be no sleep.  So we waited.

Furby grew tired finally and with a last Furbish insult flung our way, his eyes grew dim and he succumbed to the sandman.  No sound. No lights.  Too bad the damage was done.  It was 2am and for me, sleep did not return.  For Amie, her snoring answered that question.

Mr. Furby is now on a short leash.


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One thought on “Sleeping With Furby

  1. Pingback: A Lesson in Health and Wellness from Furby « Weighing In With Robin

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