Clearly, I have no crafting skills. I can barely pull myself together let alone scrap book (when Capri used to do it I would call it “Crap Booking”). I don’t make cute holiday cards or even decorate. I am a known hater of Christmas. I love Easter. Not only because of the Resurrection but that we celebrate with copious amounts of chocolate. I still won’t decorate. My sister is totally opposite. She decorates for every month, every holiday, every birthday, because it is Tuesday and she will still ask me, “Doesn’t it look nice?” I just look at her, every time mind you, as if we have just met. There is too much going on with the themes on her walls. If I could live the way I want, it would be a small studio apartment with white walls, a giant TV, a futon mattress on the floor and a constant flow of takeout food. This makes my sister very sad. She keeps thinking I am going to wake up one morning and give a shit. I keep telling her it will never happen. She keeps hoping.
I mention this only because of the newest bane of my existence: Rainbow Loom. I will put it to you simply; the fucking Rainbow Loom is a loom of some sort that the girls my daughter’s age use to make these fucking rubber band bracelets. With that said, let me say this, there is no honest to God reason I need or should know that. The reason I do is because of my girl. If there is anything in the As Seen on TV aisle of the store that has to do with hair, nails, jewelry, pajama pets (both pillows and night lights), the begging will begin. Genetically, I love that aisle. My mother loved gadgets. I do too. They usually end up breaking but for those few moments I believe that this is the thing to save me. The exception is Pajama Jeans. They save no one.
Anyways, my girl is a good saver with her money. She wants the loom so I go all over creation with her one long afternoon so she can buy it with her own money. She has learned that if she buys it with her own money, I won’t threaten punishment by taking it away from her. How could I? It is not mine to take away. We FINALLY find it. It only took me a headache, screaming, low blood sugar, and three craft stores to find it. She purchases it and just because I am awesome, I buy her two extra bags of rubber bands. Well, like the saying goes, no good deed goes unpunished. We get it home and neither one of can figure it out. I am brain fried at this point. I want to watch my DVR’d daytime dramas, take my bra off and etch-a-sketch this afternoon away. Some would call it persistence and some would call it drive but the truth of the matter is that Panza’s don’t like hearing “no”. Not in any way shape or form do we ever except “no” for an answer. This delightful quality is usually to our detriment. After I explain to my girl that Mommy has dyslexia and can’t understand these instructions, she asks if 3b could help. I explain to her that if we want to keep 3b around we won’t be asking him for help with the freaking Rainbow Loom. So just then the answer comes to me: Her Dad. He will have her for a few hours tomorrow. Pack up the loom and bring it to Daddy’s. I know it is low even for me. Tough shit.
Here is the text I got from her father around 11am:
“THANKS FOR BRINGING THIS STUPID FUCKING LOOM THING TO ME ASSHOLE!”
Asshole indeed. You are welcome.
I remember a Barbie shower one Xmas, that lasted one use as we discovered it sprayed water EVERYWHERE! The Entertainment-Useless Toy Complex has parents by the short-hairs.