Tag Archives: Little House On The Prairie

A TV Curiosity

25 Oct

Laura Ingalls has weird hair – despite being in braids all day long, when she goes to bed and wears it loose, there’s not a crinkle in sight.  How is that possible?  Is there something in the pioneer air?


The Crying Housewife

1 Aug
Little House on the Prairie book - original cover

Image via Wikipedia

It is unpleasant to learn that the image you have of yourself is false: like the time I discovered I am two inches taller than I am, or that I wasn’t as slim in my actuality as I was in my mind.  Yesterday, I learned another unpleasant home truth: my hard exterior does not hide a hard interior at all; I am, in fact, a soppy ball of mush.


You may have watched The Little House On The Prairie as a child, like me, and, like me, forgotten everything you ever saw except for the bit in the titles where the girls run down the hill amongst the plastic flowers (it’s true; I read it on the internet).  You may also have a friend who would now be your ex-friend if it wasn’t for the fact that she teases you the best of all your friends but left a comment on a previous post accidentally giving away the juicy bits.

For that reason, I warn you that some of the plot of TLHotP is about to be revealed. 

The Hub and I watched the end of series 4 last night…the episode where Mary went blind.  I sobbed like a baby.  At the most dramatic moment – the part where Charles tells Mary what’s happening to her, the ex-Hub said, ‘I bet she didn’t see that coming.’

All the way through the drama I kept thinking of Tinman.  Don’t be concerned (I’m talking to you, Tinman): the Hub is not about to be left (not for another man, anyway; though possibly for cracking a joke when the wife is crying her icicle-covered heart out).  I kept thinking of a comment he left on my blog last time I wrote about TLHotP.  I’m going to share it here because it is worthy of another showing:

Years ago Ireland were playing soccer in some tiny Eastern European country who didn’t have floodlights, so the game kicked off at around one pm.

As we all gathered in the pub the Little House episode where Mary went blind was on the TV. About five minutes before kick-off we asked for the football to be put on and a choking voice said “No, wait a minute, this is just over.”

We looked around and one of the old guys who drank at the bar was in floods of tears watching it.

If an old Irish guy can weep over something that happened 140 years ago, then so can I.  If it transpires that I am sentimental under my frost, the Hub is just going to have to get used to it.  He needn’t worry, though: I’m not going to be mushy about him; this isn’t The Little House On The Prairie.

The Little House On The Prairie Will Never Be The Same Again

16 Jun
Carrie, Mary, and Laura Ingalls frolic down a ...

Image via Wikipedia

If you’re not a fan of poo, look away now.

I’m watching series 3 of The Little House On The Prairie.  So is the Hub, but I’m only allowed to tell you that if I don’t mention that he loves it.

The Ingalls have a dog called Jack.  An amazing dog, who just helped save Carrie from certain death (death not being a great plot strand in a series aimed at children and soppy Hubs).  Jack is mostly amazing, however, because he never poops.  We never see a squat, a sniff and mooch for the right spot, or a scratch at the door to be let out, quick! before I do it on the pristine floor Ma keeps.   We see the human characters use the outhouse, yet no dog toilet.

I begin to suspect Laura Ingalls never really had a dog – despite the way he warned of the tornado that ruined Pa’s crop – and Michael Landon added him just to keep the Hub watching.

Real dog owners know that real dogs’ lives revolve around poop: when they’re not doing it, they’re filling up to do it later and when they’re not filling up to do it later they’re smelling other dogs’ bottoms to see where it comes from, and other dogs’ poo that irresponsible owners have left on the park for me to stand in.

Not that I needed to go to the park to stand in it this morning: poor Molly seems to have the excremental blues.  She did something that frightened her, and I hope you other dog owners might have an explanation as to why it happened, because I am baffled.

I put the dogs out after their breakfast but, unknown to me, Molly sneaked back in.  Looking out the back door, there were poo blobs (as opposed to proper, steaming piles) dotted all over the garden, which is unusual.  I looked around to find one plop on my rug, and Molly squatting up against the Little House dvd case, obscuring Laura Ingalls.  Talk about defecation of character.

Don’t worry, I didn’t hit her, or even scold her.  It’s not as if she’s my husband.  I’m kissing and cuddling her right now.  It’s not as if she’s my husband.



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