Nope, I’m not talking about my boo-tay, I’m talking about actual junk.
Today, I promised my daughter that I would take her to Wal-Mart to use a gift card that was given to her months ago. Before, I told her it would be a better idea to wait until after Christmas to use her “very own credit card” (as she called it) to see what she might have wanted that didn’t pan out.
Off to the store we went, full of wonder of getting pretty much whatever she wanted, as long as it totaled $15 or less. I would supplement up to a couple of bucks, but otherwise, it had to come out of her piggy, and we don’t want to do that.
She has been talking for at least a week or two about getting a Barbie car, so much so that in the store where we went first, the cashier was told that we were on our way to get a car for Barbie, using her very own gift card. Once we got there, there were aisles of marked-down toys, including Barbies that sprayed glitter, lit-up and sang, swam, sparkled, and came with play-sets, not to mention a Polly Pocket boat set that was spotted. And the garbage truck that Santa had a hard time tracking down anywhere before Christmas was at this very store for half-off of what (I’m guessing) Santa paid. Boo.
Despite having a glitter Barbie in hand, plus enough left over to get something else, we trekked up and down the regular toy department aisles in search of the Barbie car.
There is was. I was so happy that they actually had it, with the added bonus that it was within gift card range. She looked at it, said, “nah,” and continued, wide-eyed, to peruse the options available for getting (almost) anything she wanted.
“Nah?” Really? Apparently, the kicker was that it was light, not hot, pink, plus she saw “doll not included” on the box. Lalaloopsy dolls were a little out of range, but we revisited the discussion of dipping in the piggy bank and mom supplementing a little for her good performance on her responsibility chart the week before, a wild card she saved for her trip (she gets some sort of treat, piggy bank money, a piece of candy, or a small toy for reaching her goal in the week).
Further down was a Disney princess CD player, a la the Fisher-Price record players from when I was a kid. Never had one; always thought they were cool. But this just struck me as cheap, overpriced junk. It came with 3 “CDs” that amounted to nothing more than small plastic circles with a sticker on them. $14.97. So, I tried to get her to shy away from it, but she kept coming back to it, and carried it around, even while I tried to get her to take a gander at actual CD players. “I know, mom. This one won’t play real CDs, and only plays what it comes with, but I still want it.”
Fast-forward to a price-check loving little girl, a pile of no less than four Barbie dolls, three mini-Barbie playsets, the aforementioned Polly Pocket Boat, and some Barbie toothbrushes that someone left by the price scanner (that resulted in a trip to the toothbrush aisle to check those goods), and we ended up with the same junky Disney princess CD player from before.
I still think it was way over-priced, but she does really like it so far, and mentioned how easy it would be for her younger brother and sister to use when she outgrew it. A very wise 4-year-old. So we listened to all five of the 30-second clips of digital music-only Disney songs that it came with, and a small handful of other allegedly princess-y tunes that also came on the player. I don’t know why I was so averse to it, but the joy on her and her brother’s faces as they dined on PB sandwiches and raisins to fine music, then jumped on a jumpy-cushion to the same songs over and over was priceless.
I’d still have never bought the thing myself in a million years.