Buzz Lightyear
Derek was obsessed with Toy Story.
It was the kind of obsession a 3 year old has that no adult can responsibly regulate. Every morning—for what felt like years but was most likely only a few months—we would watch Toy Story as soon as we woke up. To this day Erica can recite every word of the entire movie but you should probably just trust me as I don’t recommend testing this theory, and legally I’m not responsible for whatever happens if you do.
Derek had so much merchandise from the Toy Story franchise it was arguably a problem? Toy Story pajamas (a set for Woody and a set for Buzz), Toy Story sheets (a set for Woody and a set for Buzz), and a reversible Toy Story duvet that had Woody on one side and Buzz on the other. And, of course, every single toy in Toy Story—Slinky, Bo Peep (his favorite), Mr. Potato Head, a bunch of LGMs (Little Green Men), and many, many different versions of Woody and Buzz Lightyear.
Between all the multiple different versions of Woody and Buzz, each relative object possessed the exact same features. Woody always had a small side smile, with a slightly raised eyebrow. He had arms and legs that were made of cloth and stuffing and he looked like a totally reasonably nice guy who also happened to be a cowboy.
Buzz was always smiling with teeth, had a body made of the hard plastic only an intergalactic spacesuit requires, and his eyebrow was raised with an unreasonably extreme dramatic arc. He looked like a nice guy too, but more like a nice guy who also happened to be an astronaut and was maybe going to pull a trick on you if you weren’t paying close enough attention. His eyebrow was raised so high it felt like there was no way any human was capable of what this “toy” had mastered so distinctly.
The thing about Toy Story and owning all the “toys” from the movie is—despite any beliefs resulting from the dynamism of the plot, the toys aren’t actually highly likely to come alive when you leave the room. I know this for sure, from hours/days/weeks/months of lived experience spying and waiting. That’s not to say it couldn’t have gotten by me, it’s just highly unlikely that it did since the only two ways I really spent my time back then were to try and catch them in the act of being alive without showing us, and to try and get my eyebrow to stay stuck just like Buzz Lightyear’s.
Many long minutes in the tiny bathroom on the first floor were spent—practicing.
How could he do that? Why was his eyebrow so much more intense than Woody’s? Why were my eyebrows just stuck at regular? Mom and Mémère always warned us that if we crossed our eyes too much they’d get stuck that way—is that what happened to Buzz Lightyear’s eyebrow, and if so, could I make it happen to mine too?
There are so many unsolved mysteries of the universe, but the answer to that last question has got to be absolutely not. For the amount of practice I got, if it was possible, a raised eyebrow should’ve been stuck on my resting face 25 years ago at minimum.
Turns out—you might not be able to make your face stay stuck at Buzz Lightyear level raised eyebrow, but, if you practice long and hard enough, you can definitely get your attitude stuck at Buzz Lightyear raised eyebrow level.
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