I start my blog again…and then I leave. I am off to B.C. for the weekend, for rest and relaxation that will involve schlepping along textbooks and a gabillion toddler accessories.

Some people think that you don’t become an adult until you’ve crossed that final barrier, passed the torch, etc., etc., ad nauseam, and have SPAWNED.

But I think that children are perhaps Barbie replacements? I had about twenty Barbies and they all had various costume and accessory needs that were only SOLD SEPARATELY. I had the Barbie Horse, which needed a Barbie Horse Trailer, which was towed about the kitchen by the Barbie RV. I even had a Barbie that winked one of her big blue eyelids when you mashed a giant button in the middle of her back.

I had a hand-me-down set of Donny and Marie dolls and a Ken doll who my friend humiliated by taping a pen cap to his No-No place and leaving him for my bewildered mother to find later.

I have taped things to my daughter, but that is besides the point. The point is that all of Frannie’s little accessories are fucking sold separately (booster seats, pom-pom hats, vaccinations, and so on) and it doesn’t matter how much stuff you buy her, she keeps needing more.

I think there’s probably a market for parents who would like to save up, or take out a loan, and buy One Giant Pack of Shit For Baby (“Baby” not included). You rent a storage locker and choose between “boy” or “girl,” lay out the 100 grand (or whatever it is nowadays to raise a kid) and you get a giant shrink-wrapped pack of everything from diapers to sippy cups to Baby’s First Birth Control, so I don’t have to stay awake and fucking worry about her fourteen years from now. You could visit the storage locker once a year, and get that year’s set of clothes, books, potty chair, etc.

I think this could catch on…we prepackage everything else, right?

Alright, I’m out.