Who the $%!#& is Alf?

I recently saw an episode of the 80’s sitcom Alf. I didn’t know much about Alf, the show or the character, until seeing this episode. And to tell the truth, I fell asleep before the episode ended. I still don’t know much about Alf, the show or the character. If you can call Alf a character. He’s more like a used sock or talking wind scarf.

Or maybe a tiny caramel-colored elephant, baked and melted into a talking furry sock thing.

I asked my wife, “What is this?”

“It’s Alf,” she said.

“I know who Alf is,” I told her. “I just don’t understand the concept.”

“He’s an alien,” my wife said. “Didn’t you ever watch Alf?”

She was getting testy. It was late. I let it slide.

“No,” I said calmly. “I know who Alf is. I’ve seen pictures. But what’s he doing eating dinner with some random family?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “It’s just a show, relax…”

She always tells me to relax when I get worked up over the smallest of things.

And this was one of those moments.

“I just don’t—”

“Don’t,” she said. “It’s late and I’m tired. Just watch. It’s just a show. Relax.”

I stopped talking and just watched. I watched Alf sit at the dinner table and converse with this random family as if he had lived on earth his entire life. I don’t remember what he was eating, but let’s just say it was meat loaf. That’s what comes to mind. Meat loaf. I don’t remember. I was tired, and the little baked elephant windsock puppet thing was using up whatever brain cells I had left for TV cognition.

I thought I knew my wife. We’ve been together over 30 years and she never told me about Alf. We’ve logged millions of TV hours together—network, cable, streaming. We pride ourselves on being professional TV watchers. We eat dinner at the table in front of the TV and we have subscriptions to at least 5 major cable streaming channels.

I know more about random housewives, ex-wives and future wives from every state in America thanks to Andy Cohen. I know what they drink, eat and say behind each other’s backs.

I’ve been watching TV since I was barely able to use my opposable thumbs to change channels.

But I never saw an episode of Alf. I’d only seen him in pictures and magazines.

He lived in some dark bad 80’s TV corner of my brain, just waiting to leap out and confuse my day.

I am a tolerant individual. I will tolerate a whole slew of dumb shows. Once I’ve started watching a dumb show or movie, regardless of how asinine or ridiculous, I’ll usually finish it just so I can feel complete.

It helps me on many levels. I don’t always feel complete with anything in my life. I feel fragmented. I’m always ill at ease as if I need to finish something, anything, in my life. So finishing dumb TV episodes or whole idiotic movies with completely sub-par acting, writing and plot, is my forte.

At least I can sleep peacefully at night knowing I finished a stupid TV show.

But I couldn’t’ finish this episode of Alf. I wanted to. I wanted to find out what this little wind sock puppet thing was going to do after eating meat loaf. But I was tired, very tired. And I handed the remote to the wife and said, “watch whatever you want.”

“Don’t you want to finish Alf?” she said.

“No,” I said, “I’ve seen enough. This has gone too far…”

I was having issues with some sock person, alien, wind scarf Muppet knock-off, some random microwaved mini-elephant sitting at the dinner table with some random TV family as he conversed intelligently and pretended to eat meat loaf.

It was just too much for a weekday. Maybe on a Saturday night, when I’m prepped with popcorn and mochaccinos.

Maybe I’ll go to therapy and find out why I have such issues with alien puppets pretending to eat meat loaf.

It’s probably related to some childhood trauma.

Maybe I’m just upset I never got an Alf toy for Christmas as a kid.

Yeah, that’s it…