Further enabling Iris's Sesame Street "problem," Grandma Jo sent Iris her very own Ernie doll this week. This Ernie had, however, some less than lovable features (which I guess is actually true to the character). He spoke, without warning or provocation, and very loudly. He also snored, with his plush chest rising and falling in rhythm. This, however, was preceded by an alarming whirring sound, completely ruining any possible verisimilitude the manufacturer might have been striving for.
Note the use of the past tense above. For Ernie had been in the house for less than an hour before I realized I had to sever whatever passed for his vocal cords. That was easily accomplished - two quick snips and the battery pack was out. But to my surprise, that left a large, hard plastic core - very unhuggable, in my opinion. It seemed the lungs had to go as well. This proved far more challenging - while the battery pack had been easily accessible, the lungs required more complex surgery.
So it was with triumph that I finally pulled the large lung contraption out - only to have Ernie's severed head roll to the floor. Much like the song says, it seems Ernie's lung bone
was connected to his head bone.
Given Iris's deep attachment to Ernie, I had to smuggle his constituent parts out of the house the next morning to fix him at work. Fortunately, we have all sorts of delightful archival supplies lying around, so Ernie is now not only whole, but his empty insides have been stuffed to make him delightfully squishy yet firm to the touch.
Below, this saga in pictures, with a close-up of the only lasting scar.
