September 6, 2007
About 12 years ago, my husband and I and our 2 oldest boys, who at the time were 8 and 7 went for a drive. It was a perfect May Sunday, warm, sunny and the promise of summer just around the corner. We decided to stop at the dam lookout. There was a big grassy hill that the kids could run around on, and over the hill and fence was the dam, water rushing into the basin and the kids would love to watch the spray splash over the rocks.
The boys were running ahead of us, and as my husband and I were walking around the guardrail in the parking lot, I see Matt bending down to pick something up. Sean is also kneeling down and they look deep in thought. I can’t see what exactly they are admiring. In about one minute it will become crystal clear.
I watch in horror as our 2 sons are skipping back towards us and they have a new friend. I don’t like to be judgy but she wasn’t very pretty. Had a little too much makeup on. Arms and legs just flailing about. And her mouth was just a little TOO BIG. And OPEN. She sort of looked like this chick:
That’s right. She was the kind of friend who needs to be blown up inorder to ‘participate’ in the ‘friendship’. My mouth is now hanging open and my brain is in overdrive, picturing the barf inducing bacteria that MUST be now growing on my childrens’ hands from touching this dirty bitch. I’m going to hurl I just know it. The boys rush over to us, asking us, what exactly is ‘this’?
I don’t know.
Mom, you must know what this is?
It’s a giant Barbie doll. And you should put her down. Like now.
It’s sure an ugly Barbie doll. Like really ugly.
Can we keep her?
Ah, ah, umm, because it probably belongs to someone *insert vomiting noises here*.
It seems a bit big for a little girl to be playing with it, dontcha think?
Yes. Can you please stop touching it? It’s germy.
So why can’t we keep it? How germy could it be?
My husband pipes up at this point, because honestly, the man just doesn’t believe in beating around the bush……ah perhaps not the greatest choice of words on my part. Anyway, I digress. So husband says, ‘oh you can’t keep it because some weirdo has been having sex with it and it’s got gross stuff on it’. Nice touch sweetie.
The boys immediately throw dirty bitch down and start screaming and making throw up sounds and I am screaming at them to not touch their face or their eyes or their mouth and we decided it was probably best to go home and fumigate the boys and have them tested for diseases, you know in our lab, because, you know, we’re scientists and such as.
Now I must go shower because after talking about dirty bitch, I feel dirty. Where’s my air pump?