So I made the mistake years ago of mentioning how I loathe such things as battery-operated toys…thus giving everyone I know an opportunity to get back at me for being one of two extroverts in two whole families of extreme introverts. Oh and they took that shit and ran four-hundred miles with it, laughing like hell when my hair seemed a little thinner and my face a little redder every time they saw me. Every parent in America knows the choice that I have faced a thousand times now. its, ‘do I take this away? Do I tell them to stop? Am I being an asshole? Are they being an asshole? does this fucking thing have a volume button?’ Only to end up taking said toy, angrily/calmly as possible digging through your kitchen junk drawers for the small phillips-head screwdriver to take the batteries out of this damned thing that Lucifer himself had the minions of hell make special for you. The results of this action? Peace, my friends. Peace. Immediately followed by, “mommy, it isn’t working!”
“Well honey, they just don’t make them like they used to…”
*child tosses toy to the side for something else*
ensued by the whole, ‘am I being an asshole’ thing again. There is no greater joy than your child willingly picking this toy up and putting it in the ‘donate’ pile during ‘we have too much shit season’, which is between December and January (depending on how much recovery time you need from the holidays). This is the time in which you relieve the ‘am I an asshole’ struggle by saying, “yes honey, some child somewhere will really enjoy this, good job”. The presenting it to the goodwill guy who must think, “geeze, your kids take great care of their toys! Its in such good shape!” Nay, it has been unplugged in the bottom of the toybox/closet since the week they got it.
Yall want to see the one I can’t seem to lose/get rid of? Here it is. (The irritation ensues as my laptop betrays me and will NOT save the image of this terrible thing)
I. Hate. This. Fucking. Thing. Every single child who has come near my home pushes that big yellow sun in the middle of the steering wheel so quickly that I don’t even know what its actually supposed to say…it just makes this loud repetitive sound like “I I I I I – E E E E – I I I I – E E E E …”. This thing has NO off button and NO volume button. And the thing actually steers so they can repeatedly run into your feet and leave marks from all different angles! See, it also has a bar in the back so you can push them…that is, if you like bending and walking at more than a 90 degree angle, that is. It would have been great if you could attach a push bar so you could walk not like a cave man….and a volume button. It also is durable as hell. I have hit it with a F-150, an Impala, and my beloved old Crown Vic – only to have left a paint scratch on my Vic and NOTHING on this plastic monstrosity.
Can you believe THIS is a toy for children?
WHAT?! WHY?! WHY WOULD THEY DO THIS?! Thank god no one ever bought it for us, because I would have returned it to the store and bought a 12-pack to have a good enough excuse NOT to get in the car and find the giver and kick their ass. (not wanting a DUI is a good enough excuse to me).
In conclusion friends…”am I an asshole?” Perhaps. If you call self-preservation selfish and unworthy…so I guess it depends. If you are the stoic, magazine cover mom who can put up with this without a lifetime prescription of xanax, then you are a better woman than I. I was about to say “teach me in your ways of tolerance”, but then I thought, well, no, because I don’t want an assault and battery charge for kicking the stuffing out of your lying ass.