I was sitting alone on my couch this evening, minding my own business, quietly typing away on a brilliant blog post for you. Only the living room lights were still on â€“ the rest of the house was dark. I thought it would just be a quiet night to sit back, write, and enjoy a nice glass of the Pinot Noir Aunt Stephanie provided as a distraction for gifting the muppets two Power Wheels. (“Do not try to drive over your brother!”)
I heard a slight buzzing noise behind me. I turned, slowly, as the rattling grew louder. This is the start to one of those horror movies I refuse to watch because they give me bad dreams. Yet, just like those poor saps (â€œLetâ€™s investigate the wailing in the darkened basement of this abandoned house with the illuminating power of a candle on our side.â€), I began edging toward the bookcase housing some of the toys presently threatening to take over the living room. Dear god, I was going to be on the 10 p.m. newsâ€¦
â€œIâ€™M CHUCK. AND Iâ€™M A DUMP TRUCK!â€ announced a vibrant voice.
I jumped approximately 7 feet back. Chuck revved and rumbled and hurled himself out of the bookcase cube. â€œKEEP IT COMINâ€™!â€ he yelled at me, shaking his groove thang like no tomorrow. (Wise, considering I had instantly made the snap decision that Chuck would likely not live to see the aforementioned tomorrow.)
I lurched/lunged toward the toys, displacing a horde of angry Duplo Legos â€“ which demonstrated their anger by flinging their remaining friends at my shins. I saw flashing lights, momentarily thinking a yellow Lego had landed a head shot. But no.
â€œIâ€™m Paul. Iâ€™m a Police Car. Weâ€™re heading to the crime scene!â€ small blue and white car sang frenetically as it whizzed past me on the carpet. Paul was very determined. He must be friends with Chuck. I wonâ€™t lie, the Minority Report aspect of the scene playing out before me was not lost on my psyche.
I triumphantly snatched Chuck up from his mocking revelry dance and thrust his switch into the â€œOffâ€ position. Take that you little plastic piece of rubble I thought, and kicked a few toys aside as I aimed to head back to my seat on the couch.
â€œLook out ladies, Materâ€™s fit to get funky!â€ taunted a Cars Tow Mater toy truck buried somewhere within the rubble.
Oh hell. I began pawing through the pile because, letâ€™s face it, this was not going to be a childrenâ€™s version of Toy Story should we continue down this path.
<Ding! Ding! â€œThis is your CAPTAIN. Welcome aboard!â€ Â cried an airplane shape sorter. â€œCan you find the BLUE triangle?â€
No, as a matter of fact, I cannot, I yelled at the smiling aviator googley-eyes. I have not seen the blasted blue triangle in weeks â€“ it may be under the couch or have met an untimely demise as the black dogâ€™s afternoon snack. (With a sick perversion overwhelming me, I found myself hoping for the latter.)
â€œSpin spin a letter!â€ / â€œYou are a VERY useful engine.â€ And a plethora of other dinging songs came to life together. THE TOYS ARE RISING UP AGAINST ME!
Where. Is. My. Wine. Or perhaps I should stay far far away from that glassâ€¦Either way.
â€œIâ€™m stirring and stirring my pot!â€ moaned the crockpot. â€œOhhhhhh, the nutrientsâ€¦So healthy!â€ (Iâ€™m pretty sure this thing was having a sexual experience.)
I fled to the bathroom for sanctuary. (It was the closest room with a door, ok?)
â€œ1 little, 2 little, 3 little fishiesâ€¦â€ sang the bathtub.
Mother of the floating rubber duckies! I was in a horror movie. Iâ€™d just locked myself in a room with MORE toys â€“ angry wet ones residing in the tub. A Nemo-like clown fish continued itâ€™s song, asking me to play along. â€œWhere is the red octopus? Can you find the RED octo..â€ <glurrgle glurrggle>
Thatâ€™s right. I tried to drown a plastic fish. Donâ€™t judge me.
I marched myself back into the living room and collapsed on the love seat. Right onto the baby laptop.
â€œPush, a letter button,â€ it instructed.
I hit the power button. With. Authority.
â€œPush a LETTER button,â€ it demanded. â€œThatâ€™s not a letter!â€
Oh, for the love of all things holy â€“ I am a word nerd by trade. I KNOW the power off is not a letter button! But the battery case was screwed shut. Power off was my only hope!
â€œNew blog entry!â€ the little green laptop excitedly announced unprovoked.
Oh. My. God. It knowsâ€¦
Tripping and stubbing my toe on the ledge, you can now find me cowering in the corner with a jumbo black hefty garbage bag. Just try me toys â€“ I will Throw. You. Out.
I looked up. Face to face with Lucky. â€œIâ€™m a pretty ponyâ€¦â€ Lucky whispered.