There’s thousands of dollars worth of entertainment for my little darlings sitting on shelves and strewn across the floors of our house – planes, trains and automobiles, musical instruments, blocks, balls, and bats – you name it, we probably have it.
The loudest, flashiest toys are the most seductive, all dolled up in their primary colors, those sluts. Julia has this piano that, unless it’s turned off, will suddenly start blinking and screaming out of nowhere.
Dave and I are convinced that the manufacturer secretly set it to start randomly playing on its own in order to lure our children to it, who suck the battery juice from it and force us to go buy more goddamn batteries, which, in turn, makes us wonder why the f*** we haven’t invested in battery stock already.
I didn’t have toys like these when I was a kid. I had crayons and paper, a colander and a kitchen sink full of water and my mom’s pantyhose that I put on my head and pretended the legs were actually my long, flowing locks of hair.