Every Christmas and birthday, Lily receives a gift. You know the gift. That one that keeps on giving and giving and giving until you are ready to kill somebody. The noise makers that become the child's favorite toy and the parent's nightmare. This year it was the Merry-Okee. What pray tell, you ask, is a Merry-Okee. It is a device designed to make your eardrums bleed, or a karaoke microphone with four buttons: one for playing pre-recorded Christmas carols, one for turning the singer's voice into a high-pitch, squeaky elf-like voice, one to sing without the elf voice, and the on-off button.
At first glance, this sounds like fun. Trust me, it's only fun for the child singing at the top of their lungs. As she screeches into the microphone, there is that sound you get when a speaker is being blown out combined with the high-pitched elf voice and the completely off-key child voice. Tone deaf or perfect pitch, your ears are sure to bleed. After a few minutes of this, the long suffering parent (that would be me) is ready to start a witch hunt for the creators of this torture device. Or just snatch that damn thing out of the child's hand and throw it under a Euk tire. Darn! Smashed to smithereens. Of course, I don't, but it's so tempting.
When she was younger, I just waited until she was asleep or out of the house and removed the batteries. Now she's too smart for that. She just asks me to replace the batteries. Since she knows where we keep them, I can't say that we don't have any. Hm... unless I hide them. But if I do that, I am likely to forget where they are when I need them.
For her birthday, one of her friends got her a robotic pterodactyl that spits its food (thankfully, not real food, but a plastic projectile) and screeches. It also snaps its mouth shut. O.o The young boy who bought it for her knows that she loves dinosaurs, so it was a very thoughtful gift... for her. For me, not so much. She pulled it out again the other day and played with it. It was...special. (g)
One of the worst toys, though, that someone gave her was a singing Pinkie Pie. God, how I hate My Little Ponies with their stupid stereotype crap that girls are supposed to like. (Ponies wearing dresses. Really?) But to have to listen to that annoying voice sing one of three insipid songs every day for four hours out of the day is enough to send someone around the bend. Just. Kill. Me. Now. Seriously, instead of water boarding, they should make prisoners listen to Pinkie Pie sing. They'd crack quicker than a peanut in a nutcracker.
You know, there must be a special kind of hell for the people who make these toys. If there's not, there is no justice in this world.