Crossing lines as I am drawing them.

The other day, Amy posted a hilarious bit about Pillow Pets ( It's a pillow! It's a pet! It's a Pillow Pet!  Best advertising earworm EVER.)

In her post, Amy observes:

My kids have never been exposed to many commercials. Though only in the strictest sense of the word: I am fully aware that NickJr. advertises the shit out of other NickJr. shows and products under the guise of: 

"LET'S GET UP AND MOVE WITH THE FRESH BEAT BAND, EVERY WEEKDAY AT 4, YAY EXERCISE!" 

"LET'S GO BEHIND THE SCENES AT THE THEATER FOR A LOOK AT A CARTOON-TIE-IN LIVE SHOW THAT WILL COST YOU $375 AND YOUR WILL TO LIVE, YAY CULTURE!" 

"LET'S LEARN TO SAY IT TWO WAYS WITH DORA AND PROMOTE SPANISH LANGUAGE LITERACY, YAY COMING ANCHOR TERROR BABY APOCALYPSE!!"

Apparently, someone reading Amy's post missed the Satire and Parody Boat and instead, hopped on the Literal and Sensitive Yacht when they commented that they were miffed about the Anchor Baby reference.  Of course, me being me, I hopped on that chain gang and commented:

Dude, we have Anchor Babies and we LOVE our Anchor Babies. (They are particularly delicious when deep-fried). You should really think about getting your own Anchor Baby and quit mocking mine, Amy.

That said, my anchor babies have been denied pillow pets. I fear they will seek revenge by reporting Manoj's ass to the INS (or worse, Ari-FUCKING-zona), but we try to keep a close eye on them and limit their Internet access and phone usage. Anchor babies are a sneaky lot. Still, they are TASTY.

And then I went about my business.

But after awhile, I realized that perhaps, just maybe, my comment was also over the line and offensive.  It is difficult for me to gauge these things because Manoj, my own little Guest Pass into the Immigrant World, appreciates my twisted sense of humor and lets me push buttons - huge, gargantuan, RED buttons.  Therefore, while Bill O'Reilly and the rest of the Death Eaters at Faux News were decrying the salacious practice of birthin' babies on American soil to secure status here, Manoj and I were busy mocking such a stupid, ignorant proposition.

Quite simply, a baby does not grant you security in this country.  Ever.  And until Manoj is an American citizen, I will not rest easy with his so-called "permanent" resident status.  Period.  So yes, the concept of Anchor Babies is so very laughable - a joke with a myriad of simply irresistible punchlines.   And yes, to be honest, Manoj and I are the sort of couple who follow current events in lieu of religion and when fun needs to be poked at something, we are more than happy to Poke, Poke, Poke ourselves into giggles (remember the George Allen Macaca Debacle?  We had much fun with that one.) 

But I am my father's daughter - he taught me to make fun of everyone, including myself.  However, at times, I do take it too far and Manoj will not hesitate to call my pale posterior on the carpet over it.  For example, when he told me it was absolutely rude to tell people that my Catholic Indian husband was "Not Feather, Not Dot".  Apparently, it is acceptable to mock-complain that he does not do the Asian Head Bob or wear a loongi or babble in a sing-song, Apu-worthy accent.  It is also okay for us to giggle when it is clear that "Gary", our recent customer service rep at AT&T was talking to us from the sweltering depths of Bangalore.  And realistically, we will watch the new TV show Outsourced and at least give it a chance to tickle our wicked funny bones.  But that one bit?  The Not Feather, Not Dot bit was over the line and I must concede that my Guest Pass has restrictions, after all.

Still, I stubbornly maintain that deep-fried Anchor Babies are magically delicious.