When life hands you people-sized bananas, plot revenge
It might take a while to find the appropriate present for someone who gives your kids 4-foot-tall stuffed bananas. One for each kid - we wouldn't want them to fight over one, would we.
The guys, of course, loved them. Used them for teeter-totters. Dance with them. Dragged them all over the house. It lasted for about a day and a half - long enough for me to have to figure out how to stuff the toys in our trunk for the trip home. Too bad we'd taken my car - they never would have fit in Dad's.
And now, after I squeezed and pushed and slammed so the Banana Boys - yes, they have names - could ride home, the guys have 90 percent forgotten them. They lounge on them occasionally when they're watching TV, but, otherwise, they're left in floor for me to trip over.
So I'm stuck with two space-eating beasts, just weeks after I'd spent the late-night hours purging toys and the daytime forcing the guys to give up precious belongings they never played with.
The reason I'm stuck is even more galling.
"I didn't want them at my house. They take up too much room," the giver said, giggling.
Ah-HA! Just as I'd suspected for years, as treasures ranging from Ready Freddie to a "learning" laptop migrated from her house to ours. These aren't gifts. They're garbage dumps. And annoying ones at that.
I just couldn't believe she'd slipped up and admitted it.
One of my sisters told me years ago, when I bought her then-2-year-old a toy zylophone for Christmas, that someone would get me back should I ever have kids. But the 2-year-old is in his 20s now. Isn't there a statute of limitations on karmic retribution?
I know I'm ready for a little retribution of my own.
I'm thinking the "giver's" kid wants a trumpet for Christmas. Or maybe a drum set - all the noise and 10 times the clutter.
Copyright 2009 Debra Legg. All rights reserved.