Childhood Magic Is Growing Thin

We're still in a lingering Christmas coma. Roomie cooked ham and mashed potatoes for Christmas dinner, and we watched Holmes Makes It Right on DIY.

Then we watched The Great Mouse Detective, which I have never seen. It was cute, but I can tell I'm becoming a grizzled old fart, because I found Olivia's spunky precociousness irritating rather than endearing. Sit down, shut up, and Christ Jesus, stop being an idiot. A creepy bat is trying to abduct you, so you stupidly follow a trail of drifting bubbles without telling anyone? Smooth. And then you're surprised when you're stuffed into a sack and carted off to Ratigan's lair? Do the world a favor and don't breed. There's no need to pass on your blatant and pervasive dumbassery.

I want a Toby and a Dr. Dawson, though.