Deb hates Elmo. She hates him very, very much, she does.
Trying to ensure that the other parent gets the next crappy diaper has been raised to the level of an artform in this house over the past month, aided and abetted by the lovely people who make Pampers. Anyone who doesn’t think that obnoxious advertising starts early enough, rest assured: Pampers feature Sesame Street characters (and Huggies have Mickey Mouse, but that is unimportant, since we generally make it through about one half-pack of those before she grows out of them, which leads to a rather entertaining sort of shitstorm. But I digress...).
In any case, the quest to foist the next poop on each other has resulted in a shortage of Elmo diapers around these parts. You see, almost from birth I’ve been teaching my daughter to shit on the fuzzy red son of a bitch. So the best way to make the next diaper change a smelly one is to put her in an Elmo diaper. Thus they tend to be hoarded for strategic deployment in the evenings.
Oh, and as far as those baby-changing things go, I’ve never seen anyone use one of the damned things. I sure as hell won’t. I take her back out to the car if she needs changing that badly. Ah, the luxuries of having just one child…
Size 4 by any chance? If so, and you want to unload all the Bert, Big Bird and Cookie Monster diapers you’re now stockpiling, I’ll take them off your hands for you.
Our twins go through those things like there’s no tomorrow.
Posted by Bruce on 01/05 at 04:24 PM
Next entry: Quote of the Day
Previous entry: Rest In Peace Frank Kelly Freas