Plastic Toys Will Rape Your Cats and Eat Your Mother!

Today, I spend two hours in a parent planning meeting for one of the groups I'm desperately trying to learn to like in hopes of making my daughter a friend.  I really don't understand the point of a parent planning meeting to begin with.  I mean, what's wrong with a call or an email saying "Lets get together?"  It can even be in advance, but do we need to sit for two hours and plan shit?  It's kiddie play time, not a wedding.  Needless to say, it did not go well and I don't care what my mom says, this is not my fault!

The women in this particular group are like a bad cliche of the hostile, tightly wound homemaker with no sense of humor.  I planned to enjoy myself.  I mean, I planned to tune the meeting out, but I thought I could make a good time of it by imagining they're actually a group of kinky superheroes and I have infiltrated their top secret meeting.  I'd give them bizarre little back stories and neat super powers and try to figure out what they're up to today.

Then, I realized these women have no potential to be superheroes or kinky, much less kinky superheroes.  Major bummer.  Instead, I decided to try writing a dirty story under the guise of taking notes.  They love taking notes at these things. 

I've never actually written anything porny before and I should probably avoid it in the future.  My story ended up gross and awkward, rather than sexy and I sort of wanted my characters to die.  Maybe I'll write them into extreme violence at the next awful parent meeting.  Anyway, about half way through some horrible foreplay, a paper worked its way over to me.

        "What Plastic Toys Mean For Your Children"

Wait, what?  There's a question that had honestly never crossed my mind.  What do plastic toys mean for my child?  And why had someone taken the time to type up literature on this?  I scanned the page (Environment... blah, blah... Toxins.. blah, lacking mental stimulation... blah, blah, blah... produced in sweat shops... more blah....)  unable to find a concrete answer.  I thought of asking the other moms, but then I glanced over at Pie...

...happily playing with her little plastic Tangled dolls that now go everywhere with us.  Including the Anti Plastic Toy Rally.  In fact, most of Pie's toys are plastic (and those that aren't are still dyed! Or painted! Oh no!) and she almost always brought one.  Paranoia kicked in, and in the back of my mind, I wondered if this was all for my benefit.  I mean, the other moms already knew all of the evils that go hand in hand with plastic toys.  They began talking about all those awful places that offer plastic play things. 

 Then, I noticed something.

No!  It couldn't be.  They were drinking from...  PLASTIC!?  The very substance that they were trying to convince me would rape my cats and eat my mother?  Surely, this could not be the case!  But, in fact, it was.  Which made me think of something else.

And that always makes me laugh.  I opened my mouth to point out their plastic beverage receptacles, then I thought better of it.  It might make the meeting take longer.  I tuned out all the plastic talk and went back to my story, having decided that (with the exception of waking up to them literally stuck in my hair) Pie's plastic toys are fine with me.  I guess I could shell out for toys made only of undyed cloth or wood.  I could make her toys myself, I'm crafty enough.  I could hand her my old pots and pans and tell her to have a blast.  Or, I could just let her have all the fun she was having right then.  Because playing with plastic toys looked like a hell of a lot more fun than bitching about them.

So, basically, I learned some things today.  First, I should never write porn.  Second, I'm comfortable with my apparently mediocre-at-best parenting.  Third, I have a martyr limit and it has been met.  Guess we're looking for a new group.