Eryn Ashley On Wednesday, June 29, 2011 at 2:45PM Happy Meal Toys
Remember how exciting this used to be? You beg and plead your mother and fathers to take you for greasy, sugary, fatty, delicious fast food so you can be rewarded with the coolest little plastic trinket this side of type two diabetes. Stuck in between limply fried potatoes and battered chicken briquettes were individually wrapped emblems of hope and childhood, hermetically sealed promises of hours of play and happiness. While recently cleaning out my basement, however, I stumbled upon one of these lost relics of youth. It looked like this.
Wait a minute … what? Is that? … Is that a fork? A trident? Satan’s chosen weapon/accessory? Nope. It’s a gardening tool. A miniature, flimsily constructed trowel and pitchfork that would be helpful only if you had the hands of a remarkably dexterous two-year old and had planted a garden made of yogurt. And the damn little toy was broken. Still in the bag, and broken, one of the tines having snapped off during all those years of incredibly strenuous storage. Way to ruin my dreams, Hamburglar, and be a cheap-ass to boot.
Sugar Cereals
Disclaimer 1: I am coo-coo for Cocoa Puffs and always will be. Chocolate milk and jet-puffed balls of cookie-like substance breakfast is pretty much my dream of dreams (a.k.a. liquid Oreos. Make it happen, Nabisco). Amazing.
Disclaimer dos: I was not allowed very many cereals as a child, so my lonely walk of longing down Aisle 7 was punctuated with a lot of angst and drooling. What cereals were allowed in my house? Cheerios, Shredded Wheat and Cracklin’ Oat Bran. I was a very regular child.
