A short time ago, a Deranged Individual put on his evildoer thinking cap and said, “I know! I’m going to make packets of colorful silicone rubber bands in a bunch of different shapes, and I’ll sell them and make a fortune, and as a bonus, it will drive parents wild and create hostile play environments for children everywhere!”
And then he did it! Good job! You stupid fucking turd. Now Silly Bandz, the newest rage among school-aged kids, are the bane of my domestic existence. All over my house there are silicone rubber bands shaped like giraffes, guitars, porcupines, ice cream cones, castles, fish, dog bones, dogs, a ladies’ room bathroom sign – should I go on? There’s even a microphone, which is very popular, hopefully not because it looks like an erect bulging dick.
I am finding these things everywhere – in the couch, the bathtub, my dog’s poop, the laundry. I picked one out of the Cheez-It box this morning. Seriously. Although I found a blue rubber shark, a plastic ring and some lipstick in the Cheez-It box, too.
You may be thinking, what’s the big deal? They’re just rubber bands. Which is true. Except that the Deranged Individual was smart enough to make some Silly Bandz rare and thus extra desirable. So trading has begun. Yes, that’s right. Silly Bandz are the new form of baseball cards. Babe Ruth is doing shots of tequila in his grave at the thought of it.
Last week, the Diva came home crying because a boy in her class told her she doesn’t have any cool Silly Bandz. I don’t know how he could tell since she has about 200 of them which she wears on her wrist like a cheap Cleopatra arm band. But anyway, according to the Diva, who exaggerates, nobody would trade with her, especially since her high-valued brown porcupine band had broken. “But if you put it in the microwave for, like two minutes, you can fix it,” she said, sniffing at me hopefully, big tears dripping. Apparently if she could repair her brown porcupine, she could trade it for a cheeky monkey.
I sat her down and wiped her tears and lectured her about how you should save your sadness for stuff that’s worth being sad about, and that what’s important is not whether the boy thinks her bands are cool, but whether she thinks her bands are cool. “I don’t,” she said.
Also, I continued, sometimes we lose things, or things break, and that’s life. For example, I pointed out, I had recently lost one of my favorite gold earrings. But I didn’t cry about it.
“Is that why you bought those new ones?” she said.
“Yes,” I said. “No.” Wait. This conversation was not going as planned.
Of course I ended up going to the store for more Silly Bandz, because we’re apparently teaching our children that it’s important to subscribe to every insipid juvenile developing trend. Honestly, though, I must tell you I’m slightly worried that the next trend among 2nd graders will involve having an iPad, which makes this the only time my daughter can actually afford to keep with the pint-sized Joneses.
The next morning, Hot Firefighter Husband decided to try to repair the brown porcupine in the microwave EVEN THOUGH HE IS A FIREFIGHTER AND PRESUMABLY KNOWS BETTER. “It’s science, honey,” he said to me.
“No, it’s urban myth in action,” I said.
The brown porcupine has now been declared permanently dead. Burned to death, if you ask me. BUT – and here’s the exciting part of all this – we now have a cheeky monkey. I’d trade it for a microphone any day.