I know right? Totally hardcore.
Look, I had to do it for me, for my street and for my county, it was just THAT loud. That toy was so deafening that I couldn’t even bring myself to donate it to charity. I could never subject some other kid’s eardrums to that thing for fear of bad toy karma and I just couldn’t have that on my soul. Even this processed blond knew the obvious and gentler solution would have been to remove the batteries. Yes, but BooBoo is smart, just like your kids, and he would have just continued asking me to fix it over and over and over if it remained in plain sight. So, bleeding eardrums or eternal pleading? Neither. I chose trash; problem solved. Did BooBoo look for the guitar? Yes. Did he ask me to help him find it? Indeed. Will it ever be found? Negatory, that guitar swims with the fishes. So he cried for a minute and then found entertainment with a bendy straw – score!
Here is where my secret gets even dirtier and I become even more of a rebel:
Sometimes the toys aren’t even bad; they just offend me for some non-specific reason.
There was a time that I loved Barney. He was so purple and kind, teaching all those morals and manners. The problem was I got my fill of Barney and his posse with my eldest son. Once BooBoo came along, well, he latched onto Barney like nothing I have ever seen. He lived and breathed for “Marney” as he called him and it bordered on obsessive. I ultimately found myself developing passive aggressive feelings toward Barney who never did anything to me (aside from that “I Love You” song heard even in my sleep), but BooBoo and Barney were going to have to end their love affair.
Thankfully, the pair eventually went their separate ways because they both wanted different things. Or maybe the breakup wasn’t as much mutual as previously thought. When BooBoo’s eyes started wandering, Barney went missing. We presume he found his way to some less fortunate kids, but we can’t be sure, it’s all speculation really. All I know is that Barney don’t live here no mo. Sure, there were good times, memories light the corners of my mind and all that. It was real and it was fun and it was real fun, but now it’s over and I have SpongeBob and his obnoxious laugh to contend with…
…or do I?
Fess up, have you ever broken or trashed a toy for selfish reasons?
(Oh yeah, if you liked that fun illustration by my husband above, you can check out a gallery of his cartoons here.)
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How else can you carefully and responsibly get rid of the evidence?