Giving Her Tools Was a Big Mistake
Two months ago, my brother gifted a play toolkit to my daughter for her second birthday. It contained a plastic hammer, screwdriver, and handsaw among other things I didn’t recognize.
Like some ruler looking motherfucker.
He claimed that she had “too many pink, princessy toys” and that she needed to learn to “take care of herself” so she didn’t end up like me, who apparently, “can’t hang a picture without a man’s help.”
I thanked him for the gift and reminded him that he was the one who had to Google what “white coffee” meant not too long ago.
Then I asked him to hang a picture.
My daughter took little notice of the toolkit.
A few days ago, I saw her drag the toolkit out of her toy chest and wrestle with the little yellow case, trying to open it. When I approached to help, she screamed at me.
I sprayed her with holy water and lay on the couch to read the Bible.
It was more werewolf smut than Bible. Pretty sure werewolves and their fuck buddies scare away demons anyway.
After some dramatic crying and lying on the floor singing Chasing Cars, she was able to pop the bastard open. Pulling out each item, she inspected them all carefully before throwing them back in their case and stuffing it in the coat closet.
That’s where all the useless shit goes — tools, bills, people named Quinn.
Over the following days, the tools emerged for disturbing reasons.
On the first day, my daughter earned a chocolate treat which she smeared all over every surface within reach, including her doll, Stella. Noticing the doll’s chocolate-stained dress, I asked, “Oh, what happened to Stella?”
My daughter looked Stella up and down, saw the chocolate stain, and tried to lick it off.
She learned that from me.
When the stain didn’t budge, she ran over to the couch and shoved Stella under a cushion before…