Monday, August 29, 2011

Not Lovin' It

Since last week's murder-fest, my family staged an intervention of sorts and my mother flew down to keep an eye on me. Or maybe it was to keep on eye on the children and any innocent strangers/porn stars that might have the misfortune of knocking on my door. (I'm just kidding. She flew down to flee the hurricane and abandon her husband and pets to fend for themselves.)

Anyway, I had to pick her up form the airport on Friday right after Plus One got out of school. Since it was close to lunch time and I enjoy contributing to the Fast Food Industrial Complex, we swung by McDonald's. Though, to balance my parental cosmic energy, I told them I wasn't going to buy them Happy Meals, because these are hard times children, and hard times call for desperate, dollar menu choices.

(Except that I'm a total fucking sucker and was all OKAY FINE after like 2.5 seconds of protest.)

And I didn't even regret it at first. They happily chomped on their partially hydrogenated vegetable oil with nary an attempt at fratricide for a solid 45 minutes. I was able to navigate the DFW traffic with BOTH hands, as one was not required for swatting at the children. I even got to listen to the radio, people.


::fist bumps the Hamburgler::

Well, what I hadn't thought to consider is that my fast food karma is bankrupt. (Actually, I'm not really sure what that means.) What I'm trying to say is that I was naive to think that my decision to feed my children processed chicken product wouldn't have some sort of monumental butterfly effect on my world that day. You see, in the car, I'd taken their toys out of the happy meal bags and stashed them in my purse. This way, they'd actually eat their food, and then I'd have a bonus distraction at the airport when T9 was no longer entertained by trying to bumrush security.

Imagine my surprise, then, when standing in the airport, I pulled out the little bundles of plastic to discover that they were basically LASER POINTERS. Little plastic, DreamWorks laser pointers. And if the War on Terror has taught me ANYTHING, it's that laser pointers ARE NO FUCKING JOKE KID, unless you think a prison sentence is amusing, in which case, AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!

Except I'd already said they could have them. And everyone who's anyone knows that when a mother renegs on an "OK", it loosely translates to I HATE YOU in the mind of a child. We stood there next to my mother's arrival gate, and I stared at this ridiculous hunk of plastic, struggling to comprehend why they'd put a fucking laser pointer in a goddamn happy meal box. MegaMind isn't even a current MOVIE for fuck's sake! In the end, I concluded that fighting off the TSA and any nearby air marshals would be less exhausting than explaining to my sons why playing with a laser pointer in the airport is not fucking good idea.

I spent the 20 minutes it took my mother to deplane doing one of those whisper-shouts at Plus One and T9 alternately.

Plus One: [Shining it at the ceiling.]


T9: [Shining it toward the security checkpoint.]


We managed to make it out of the airport without too much of a scene, but more than a few strangers gave me a dirty look when I pried the children from Grandma mere seconds after they were reunited at the baggage carousel. WE NEED TO LEAVE MOM. NOW.

It was a wonderful reunion, and I'm really looking forward to her visit. But I can't shake the fact that one of those toys never made it back into the car with us. I can only conclude that it was found discarded, marked as a suspicious package, inspected by bomb robots, and ultimately retained as evidence used to add Plus One to the Terror Watch list.



PS: After hours of placing your names on a spreadsheet, randomizing the order of your entries, and consulting with The Psychic Friends Network, the winner of the iPad 2 is Pamela Dayton!

Thanks to everyone that entered!