One of the greatest gifts the internet has bestowed upon us is the ability to drunkenly shop for Christmas gifts, snug on the couch.
You may end up falling victim to the Amazon One-Click®/Deal of the Day sucker punch and thinking it wise to get your ten year old an electric scooter, because a decade of having a face with skin seems long enough.
Anyway, what I’m saying is, there’s a degree of risk involved.
Recently, as I was doing just that, I stumbled into the underbelly of internet shopping. A place that appears to cater to a subset of privileged folks with more cash than brains or taste. A site that gouged a hole in my bucket of hope for humanity. A site whose name alone could make you want to drop kick a puppy.
I couldn’t look away.
Here are my findings.
Pardon me? A $54,000 “playhouse?” They sell full sized ones in Detroit for a pocketful of gum wrappers and paper clips. You know what kind of playhouse expectations kids should have? Some shanty town style shit. Throw a sheet over the dining table and call it a day. Hell, drag a dumpster full of cardboard into the yard and duct tape that junk together. I don’t ever want to dislike a kid, but if they have opinions on whether their miniature mansion with central air should have marble or Mexican tiles, only a few short years after they stopped wetting their pants, I can’t control my feelings.
Turns out, the 1% don’t have to wait until they’re tall enough to reach the pedals on their parents’ luxury vehicles in order to recklessly mow down pedestrians or paparazzi. Just drop 32k on this miniature gas guzzler, and Junior will be cruising down the Affluenza highway in no time.
My kid wakes up in a $179 particle board Ikea bed and has enough of a chip on her shoulder. You want to feel like Cinderella? Go find a mop and a bucket. And how the hell are you supposed to clean vomit out of all the crevices of this gilded nightmare? Two months later I’m still finding evidence of a norovirus horror show. Shudder.
There’s luxury, and then there’s flat out foolishness. Spoiler alert! Babies leak more fluids than a demolition derby. I’ve caught, wiped, cleaned and actually ingested (a diaper changing fiasco I’d rather not recount) more substances from the two messy creatures I grew in my own body than seems biologically necessary. For months, I basically sat around with a baby under one arm and a balled up, 9 cent piece of cotton on the other, just waiting to catch regurgitated milk.
The baby Jesus shot shit straight up his back and into his hairline and I’m sure even that guy wasn’t wrapped in a rectangle of silk. IS YOUR BABY BETTER THAN JESUS? I’m looking at you, Kimye.
Maybe it’s because I already have an ax to grind about stuffed animals, but if I were tall enough, I’d punch this thing in the face. How the hell are you supposed to smuggle this 8 foot dust bag to Goodwill when the kids aren’t looking? Strap it to the hood of your Range Rover like some suburban dentist returning from an African safari? Included in the $1199 price tag on this heap of stuffing is a “teaching tag describes the animal’s habitat, lifestyle, care of young and eating habits.” Listen, I’ll google that shit for you in exchange for a six-pack.
Peasant that I am, I don’t know the properties of dupioni silk. Does it magically repel the legions of filth that a kid can find ways to slather themselves in? Is it actually a fancy way of saying “unicorn skin?” Does it prevent cancer? Unless this thing was actually hand sewn by a gaggle of singing woodland creatures, there’s nothing here I can abide by.
7. Snow White Princess Wagon, $3,200
Imagine how beautiful your little princess could look flying ass over tasty cakes out the top of this regally obnoxious and impractically designed artisan wagon. Handcrafted for the child who’s far too sophisticated for a Radio Flyer or your run of the mill concussion.
I’m trying to write a joke that makes me laugh harder than the phrase “fur beaver bunting bag,” but sometimes you have to yield the floor to the jokes that write themselves.