Once upon a time, there was a little ride-on toy.
The buttons on this toy were situated so perfectly, that when BoyChild rode it, his thighs would activate the buttons EVERY. SINGLE. TIME.
Mom told herself that the battery would die soon. Because toy companies are cheap bastards.
But after a whole year - the battery didn't die!
The song from the toy had etched itself into Mom's grey matter. And in a bad way.
Mom became pregnant with GirlChild and craved meat through the winter. In between staring daggers at the little ride-on toy.
In February, Mom was extremely round with child when the heat pump broke, the snow was falling and Mom called for help!
Mom was tired of wearing five layers of clothing around the house.
Mom got a phone call from the Heat Pump Guys who said they couldn't fix the heat pump because the driveway hadn't been shoveled. Even though they hadn't said it needed to be shoveled over the phone. And they were parked right in front of the house making the phone call.
Heat Pump Guys lied and said they had told Dad to shovel the driveway. It was a lie, because only Mom was on the phone with them.
So Mom threw on some boots and a coat and went out to their van in the street hoping that her huge belly would sway the Heat Pump Guys into action. But they were cold and heartless and Mom raged at them. Mom may or may not have used the "F" word. And the Heat Pump Guys left.
Mom was so livid when she returned to the house that she punted the little, musical ride-on toy across the living room. Hard. Plastic on the side snapped off. The seat was forever broken. But as if to say it's own version of the "F" word, the little toy broke into song.
And refused to die.
Until Mom took it to the dump. Where you can hear it continue to play if you listen very carefully on a snowy, winter's day.
(ps. I've only hit a full-on rage state three times in my entire life. Don't fear me.)
Posted at Humor-Blogs