9to5to9: Someone — anyone — PLEASE stop the toy torture
Submitted by Debra on Tuesday, 19 August 2008
No Comment
Perhaps it was the Play-Doh I bought my brother's girls or the pull-along xylophone that was too cute to resist for my oldest nephew's first Christmas. Or maybe I was simply a wretched person in a past life who must pay in this one.
Whatever the reason -- it could be there is no reason and I'm due to hit the lottery soon to make up for this -- I seem to be cursed with excessively bad karma when it comes to annoying toys of late.
It's not that I'm unwilling to take the hit if a toy has redeeming qualities -- if the guys can learn from it or if it stretches their imaginations I'll let it live, though I will confess to jettisoning the highly educational Ready Freddie Learning Robot. The only thing I ever learned from him was that blood-pressure medication was in my future if he stuck around.
The sound-activated Thomas the Tank Engine at Little Guy's birthday started the recent phase. Kids are supposed to use a whistle to convince the train to trail them -- and the presence of a whistle alone is an immediate tip-off that the gift-giver harbors the parent ill will. Lucky me, Thomas also follows voices. I can't count the times he's scared the life out of me by sidling up to my arch as I've shouted to the guys from the kitchen. No, Thomas, I wasn't talking to you.
Turns out Thomas was tame compared to the duo that darkened my door last week: A military helicopter mislabeled an F-16 and a police SUV.
The helicopter would be tolerable on its own. It's nothing more than a persistent whirrrr of finger-threatening blades. Besides, it's ready to head for that great military surplus store in the landfill anyway, after a tragic crash this afternoon with Little Guy's fanny. His rear's fine; the helicopter no longer whirrrs.
The police car, well, that's another story. Shrieking sirens and flashing blue and red. Headlights that coyly open and close, as if to wink, ""you're not going to touch me because the guys love me.""
Fortunately, I won't have to touch it. Normal wear and tear is going to do the deed for me. Wires already are exposed and one siren's fallen off. Sadly, the missing part doesn't diminish the volume, but that will come in time.
Meanwhile, I'm torn between planning Christmas revenge on everyone who's vexed me with noisy toys of late and riding it out and letting karma do the job.
We'll see where things stand in November.
Copyright 2008 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.
Whatever the reason -- it could be there is no reason and I'm due to hit the lottery soon to make up for this -- I seem to be cursed with excessively bad karma when it comes to annoying toys of late.
It's not that I'm unwilling to take the hit if a toy has redeeming qualities -- if the guys can learn from it or if it stretches their imaginations I'll let it live, though I will confess to jettisoning the highly educational Ready Freddie Learning Robot. The only thing I ever learned from him was that blood-pressure medication was in my future if he stuck around.
The sound-activated Thomas the Tank Engine at Little Guy's birthday started the recent phase. Kids are supposed to use a whistle to convince the train to trail them -- and the presence of a whistle alone is an immediate tip-off that the gift-giver harbors the parent ill will. Lucky me, Thomas also follows voices. I can't count the times he's scared the life out of me by sidling up to my arch as I've shouted to the guys from the kitchen. No, Thomas, I wasn't talking to you.
Turns out Thomas was tame compared to the duo that darkened my door last week: A military helicopter mislabeled an F-16 and a police SUV.
The helicopter would be tolerable on its own. It's nothing more than a persistent whirrrr of finger-threatening blades. Besides, it's ready to head for that great military surplus store in the landfill anyway, after a tragic crash this afternoon with Little Guy's fanny. His rear's fine; the helicopter no longer whirrrs.
The police car, well, that's another story. Shrieking sirens and flashing blue and red. Headlights that coyly open and close, as if to wink, ""you're not going to touch me because the guys love me.""
Fortunately, I won't have to touch it. Normal wear and tear is going to do the deed for me. Wires already are exposed and one siren's fallen off. Sadly, the missing part doesn't diminish the volume, but that will come in time.
Meanwhile, I'm torn between planning Christmas revenge on everyone who's vexed me with noisy toys of late and riding it out and letting karma do the job.
We'll see where things stand in November.
Copyright 2008 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.
Oh my goodness!! I am (ashamedly) a thirty-something with Boots’ tendencies toward finger-jabbing and angry accusations...
How did I miss this one! What a laugh, and on a day where a laugh is needed, too! Keep up the good work gal!
You wouldn’t a been laughing if YOU’D had to live with it. I’m just happy it finally died!
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