The Penguin Effect

It's becoming more clear to me all the time that I am not a normal person.

You've all seen March of the Penguins, right?  The movie that proves that penguins are better than us?

There's that scene, after all the mama penguins, with their lovely, loving voices (and French accents!  Who knew?) drop their eggs and wander off for a two-month lunch break.

When they get back, the movie tells us that out of all the males and chicks, they somehow manage to pick out their male.  Their chick.

I don't believe it.  Not without DNA testing. 

I'm thinking what happens is that the momma penguins, feeling cold and tired, look at the male and chick closest to them, think, "Meh, they'll do," and announce, "Hooooney!  I'm hoooooome!"

I mean seriously, who's going to check?

But when I voice that theory OUT LOUD, at a dinner party, say, all conversation DIES and I'm faced with a sea of horrified, sorrowful expressions. 

I don't know if I've destroyed their belief in the ability of Emperor penguins to tell each other apart, or their belief in my goodness and gullibility.

But I do know I have to stop talking about that damned penguin movie.

Or, just get people to watch this: