Every year, we buy some ridiculous toys for Oktoberfest from Stupid.com -- they are windup, hopping lederhosen. Just the lederhosen -- no small, plastic person INSIDE the ledershoen...just lederhosen. And they hop. I'm sure there were no controlled substances involved in the conception of that toy.
This year, I found the Cadillac of windup, hopping lederhosen -- remote-controlled yodeling lederhosen. These are much larger and the remote control is shaped like a bratwurst. You press the button on the plastic bratwurst, and these plastic lederhosen hop around in a circle and yodel.
Avery is so scared of these yodeling plastic lederhosen that she will grab my leg and not let go and say "lederhosen" in this whiny little voice with a sad face and a lip quiver. Of course, we are torn between not wanting to traumatize her, and the sheer comic value this provides (which do you think usually wins out?).
The other night she was being naughty and Tim said to her, "Am I going to have to go get the lederhosen?" and she said, "NO LEDERHOSEN" and ran into the corner of the room and hid behind a chair.
Fast forward 20 years:
(Avery's psychiatrist, with concern): "So, Avery, tell me...when did this unnatural fear of German leather pants begin?"