So tell me what you want, what you really, really want
I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha) I wanna, (ha)
I wanna really, really, really wanna zigazig ah.
The world is filled with mysteries that might never be solved: the Shroud of Turin, Oak Island’s Money Pit, the statues at Easter Island, the Mary Celeste ghost ship, Scott Baio at the RNC.
But it was the above riddle that had me staring into the darkness at 3 a.m. while the rest of the household was sound asleep.
What in the name of all that is good and holy is a "zigazig ah"? And why does she want one so badly?
The greater question is, why had a ’90s pop song from the Spice Girls mutated into an earworm disturbing my slumber?
The answer is simple. My 8-year-old daughter is a sadist.
Oh, don’t let the silly grin and bubbly attitude fool you. Underneath that blonde hair and cute exterior lurks a heart of darkness more wicked than anything Joseph Conrad ever imagined. Like a creepy, demon child from some ’70s horror movie, Jellybean has everyone thinking she’s sweet and loving and precocious, but I know the truth.
Take the time I was telling everyone within earshot — the check-out girl in Winn Dixie, the little old man with his window rolled down at the stop light — that "I don’t think they’re ready for this jelly" because my "body is too bootylicious."
All because of Jellybean, who had been playing two terribly infectious songs — "Wannabe" and "Bootylicous" — back-to-back-to-back the entire time we were running errands.
See … evil.
Jellybean knows how my mind works, knows that I’d be singing these songs in my head for the rest of the night.
Why would she do such a thing to her loving father? Because she could, and also because I couldn’t reach the phone to change the playlist.
She’ll do this to me in the shower, too. I’ll be listening to Motorhead and she’ll sneak in, change the music to Adele and instead of "Stay Clean," I’m all lathered up and bellowing, "There’s a fire, burning in my heart …"
When she actually allows me to listen to my music, her first question is, "Are any of them dead?" To which the answer is generally yes, and she shows open disappointment if old age is the cause of their demise.
"Why do they all die of cancer?" she scoffs.
It’s not just music and mind games that make Jellybean the Maleficent of Buckner Kingdom. She hates pizza and Harry Potter, calling the movies "kinda dumb and boring."
It’s why we usually watch "Supergirl" instead of "The Flash." Sure, I could make her listen to and watch what I like, but then she’d just sit there (plotting my demise no doubt) and ruin my joy.
And now she has committed the gravest sin. She arbitrarily became a Bama fan, knowing that I live and die with Auburn football.
That’s when I put my foot down, refusing her requests for a hat, a T-shirt or a jersey.
I did offer to buy a cute little stuffed elephant that we could tie to the car’s bumper and drag home.
Who’s evil now?
Contact Brett Buckner at email@example.com.