I've had occasion to look at cribs recently. Ya know, when I think of a crib, and I do mean baby beds not ghetto hang-outs, I envision a wooden, slotted bed underneath some animal mobile; something like that.
So, my girl's looking at cribs online. Just like most guys, shopping details bore the fuck out of me. Most of the time, we just nod and agree to shut you up. About the only time we pay attention is when it comes time to pay. In fact, some women are crafty; they realize this so they START a conversation with, "Wow! This [crib/dress/phone/surgery] is only four hundred dollars!" That will usually prompt us to get up from the porn we're downloading to say, "What the fuck? You want to spend HOW MUCH on a [set of pans/tube of lipstick/glass slipper]?"
Needless to mention, my attention has been captivated. I get up to go look. What I saw was so incredible I felt compelled to share.
It starts out as a an innocuous enough looking crib. It has a plastic (maybe plexiglass) side window so that it does not have slots, but you can still eye the rug-rat. The color is plain and at this point I am wondering how this dragged me away from CnC......
I sat back down, prepping a 'no' that would avoid a fight or whining, while still seeming genuine as if I may have needed more than 2.6 seconds to make that decision. Before I could get fully ready, she said, "Oh this is so cool (fuck I could actually
hear her say it like 'kewl'. My skin crawled)! I am so getting this for the kid!!"
There comes a point when, as a man, you have to take charge and make decisions. You have to assert your authority as head of the household and just say yes or no. No explanation is needed because she can tell you mean it and are only going to say it once. This was not one of those times. It looked like I was going to get stuck buying that atrocity.
She had clicked on a different page and found another picture. This crib offers so much shit I had a moment of confusion. It took me a while to realize what I was looking at.
What the fuck, it was a crib made just for strippers and junkies! When you've smoked too much crack, it lifts the kid up for you.
When you're riding the night-train, shooting or snortin', and you are just too.fucked.up to safely pick up the kid, it
rocks it for you.
When you are not sure if the kid is breathing, you can know it isn't from lack of oxygen in the room. This puppy pumps it in like a casino. This way the kid can be fully conscious for your parental fumblings and stupid baby talk. The only way that could get any cooler was if it had a water and food dish like a bird cage. The picture caption just helps a product that is,
obviously, selling itself:
"Child overheating can cause great anxiety to parents, especially with high temperature alarms on modern audio monitors going off. The intelligent cot can help avoid overheating with the natural cooling effect of gently moving air, which is can be automatically activated on hot days for added peace of mind."
I was about to make a comment about how she was not going to get away with being lazy enough to utilize these features when I was stopped mid sentence. Not only does this crib enable shiftless parents and drugged-out whores alike, it comes with a nightlight. What's the big deal about a nightlight, you ask? Nothing, unless it reminds me of a strip club stage.
The 'nightlight' is actually a purple and pink neon, all-encompassing, omnipotent visual force! There is no where your little princess can look, but down, without getting used to the bright stage lights. At least if she does look down, the SIDS will save you a lifetime of embarrassment and feeling inadequate as a parent. If she does not succumb to the SIDS, by the time she's six, she will be asking you to, "Put some pretty lights in my room, Daddy...I can't sleep without the pretty lights!"
How young can a stripper be? Well, if you left it up to these people, they should start at birth. Throw a pole in the center and the little darling can say to the strip club owner, "My daddy had me start on his pole when I was one," big dumb smile on her face. You don't even need to do the whole inappropriate touching thing to push her through the door; her memories from birth-on about normal stuff will do it for you.
Now it was time to exercise that veto. "Holy fuck", I yelled, "That's just perfect. There is NO WAY you are getting this fucking thing. I will put this kid in a dirty cardboard box lined with hundreds of pill bottle cottons and old newspapers before I put it in that." End of discussion. Every once in a while my facetiousness serves a purpose.
