I am beginning to dread the daily trek to the mailbox. Granted, the postman will occasionally grace its dark confines with a quilt magazine or Connecting Threads catalog (pitty-pat goes my heart). Even the bills, junk mail or random critter have nothing on the one piece of post guaranteed to pee on my parade.
It’s an American Girl catalog.
For a girl who eschews all things pink, frilly or feminine, you’d think Co-Def 2’s lip would curl in derision at the very thought of anything doll related. We are, after all, talking about the kid who gave that silicone infused beeotch who has everything, Barbie, green striped zebra hair ‘to make her pretty’.
But these aren’t your average dolls. No, no, no. We’re talking ‘spensive’ dolls here now with outfits ranging from vintage to couture with accessories and price tags to match. Plus, these little beauties must have a stand to keep them upright ’cause two feet aren’t enough, a carrying case because only commoners are carried in a child’s arms and bedding because who the heck wants to share a twin-sized bed with a living, breathing child. Let the kid sleep on the floor…and let them eat cake! Oh, wait, that was Marie Antoinette. Sorry.
For what one of them would wind up costing me, I could just pop out Co-Def #3 and call it a day. Oh, hell-to-the-no y’all!
So, you can kinda understand my snatching the offensive catalog from her hand and lobbing it into the nearest trash receptacle while muttering hysterically ‘Who put this crappy Fisher-Price junk in here-don’t they know that’s for babies?! Nothing to see here! Move along!!’ She eyed me rather suspiciously kinda like she did the day I told her the Easter Bunny and Tooth Fairy owned a time-share property in Florida with Santa Claus that they shared during the off-season. Hey, she wanted to know if they all lived together. I can’t remember names, much less who lives where, okay??
Now every afternoon, it’s a race to see who gets to the mailbox first. One of these days she’s gonna win. It still takes her a while to get outta the car considering I’m the one with the keyless remote, but she’s getting faster at extricating herself.
Yep, I’m a Bad Mommy.