Friday, October 14, 2016

Zombie Toys

This thing. This fucking thing. I don't even remember where we got it. 

Sometime during the whirling gyre of diapers, breastmilk, and onesies that was my 2007-2011, this brightly-colored, molded plastic, made-in-Taiwan future landfill-resident entered our lives. 

And it would have LEFT our lives too, IF IT HADN'T BEEN FOR THOSE MEDDLING KIDS!

Several weeks ago, Geoff took it upon himself to attack the mortifying "crawl space closet," a.k.a. the closet under the stairs. It's where all the hoarded shit we own goes to die, and where we occasionally go to check whether the Southeast Alaskan rainforest's mold is infiltrating the foundation of our house.

A decade of VHS tapes, broken toasters, and loose packing peanuts necessitated several purges of crap plus a shop-vac. I can't think too hard about how much shit was in there and the carbon footprint it left without hating myself even more than I already do, which believe me isn't easy.

The closet looked much improved after its de-shittification, but this "ball-air-pump-water-slide-likely phthalate-laden-toy-for-a-toddler" thingie was somehow spared the fate of its fellow closet-mates.

Its battery-operated blinking and binging had long since been silenced, but there it sat, because it was "perfectly good" for passing along to someone who will have to smile and take our garbage out of some unnecessary sense of obligation and politeness.

Our friends with babies were also spared, however, because Paige agreed with her dad that this toy was "perfectly good," and rediscovered it not a week after it had been placed in purgatory. 

The "smoothie maker," as it now was known, came to be the source of much sibling rivalry and tension. I had to repeatedly threaten to put it directly into the recycling, each time reminding both children that this was a baby toy--on deck for its next victim--that they hadn't know existed since they were in high chairs.

Now this fucking zombie toy had come back from the dead to feed upon what little goodwill my children have for one another while attempting to share anything.

Fucking zombie toys. 

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