Too Many Pieces

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22.Oct.2003

I would like to preface this column with a sincere declaration of love, admiration and awe for my in-laws.

I love them dearly. I realize there are people out there who have numerous horror stories to relate about their in-laws (please stop emailing me about them). I do not have such stories. Even if I did, I am not stupid enough to share them in a public forum. That would be wrong. Besides, I don’t know where I stand in their wills yet. (Kidding Roger and Bonnie! Ha, I’m such a kidder.)

I admire them immensely. They are retired, an occupation that I aspire to attain before I reach the age where the only meal I am physically able to consume is a meat shake. (Please visit http://www.meatshake.com/ if you think I am kidding.)

I am in awe of their ability to find birthday presents for my children that contain no less than 549 tiny pieces, hermetically sealed into 498 plastic baggies that take a combined degree in engineering and physics to build into something that remotely resembles the picture on the box the pieces came in. These tiny pieces have a life force of their own and will eventually maneuver themselves into places where they know I will find them in my bare feet.

A package arrived today from my in-laws for my youngest daughter’s fifth birthday. Upon opening the box, I discovered three presents wrapped deceptively in gold paper. So pretty, so dangerous. So full of things I just knew were going to force me to need a tranquilizer dart big enough to bring down a Wooly Mammoth.

I got married so I wouldn’t have to do things like take out the garbage, replace light bulbs, kill spiders or put things together that have more than two pieces. He puts things together; I do the appropriate oohing and awwwing in appreciation of his manly prowess and spatial abilities. I draw the line at wearing faux pearl necklaces and cinched in belts on dresses while vacuuming the living room. June Cleaver I ain’t.

Back to the innocent looking box of presents. Upon opening them it was discovered that one was the new Swan Lake Barbie movie. Yeah! All I had to do for that one was to cut away the plastic wrapping and viola’, instant present to place into chubby five-year-old waiting hands. The next box was the actual Swan Lake Barbie herself, wings and all.

Have you ever tried to extricate a Barbie, any Barbie, from the box she comes in? As I spent the next forty-five minutes unwinding the little plastic twist ties that held Ms. Swan Lake captive in her cardboard prison, I pondered how the person who held the job of twisting those little ties felt about his/her career. Two twist ties to the infinitesimal waist, one on each diminutive wrist, one wrapped around her neck and one lashed to each unnaturally long leg. Are the workers who perform these tasks little dominatrix’ in training?

“Lets see you get out of THIS one you, blond dis-proportional-self-esteem –butcher!’

At last I’d undone the tape over the blond hair that had been (I am not making this up) sewn into place and bound with more twist ties. This precious doll was immediately seized upon by the birthday girl with giggles and delight and rushed off to her bedroom. Her joy was due to thoughts of taking Barbie’s pretty wings off and cutting all that blond hair down to resemble something more in the line of Annie Lenox.

And now for the last box. The biggest box. The box I knew was full of doom. Since I knew there was a theme to the presents opened thus far, I feared that the box contained the entire movie set of The Swan Princess and I would have to put it together.

My fear was justified.

Once the box was opened, out popped 549 tiny pieces, hermetically sealed into 498 plastic baggies, along with several hundred larger molded plastic pieces with various holes and protuberances that caused me to hyperventilate. As an aside here, never use one of those plastic baggies to breathe into while hyperventilating. It took the medic half an hour to remove it from the back of my throat. An entire thirty minutes that could have been used more productively to locate my husband, beg him to come home and put the Swan Princess movie set together.

Hubby had obviously seen this coming and turned off his cell phone. I was on my own.

I won’t go into the gory details here, but I’m fairly certain that the Great Wall of China took less time to construct and no five year old Chinese girls were allowed within plastic baggie tossing distance of the construction site to give helpful hints on where each brick should be placed.

I will tell you that Swan Princess Barbie has a matching place setting for four, including forks and knives, salad plates, dinner plates, cups, saucers, etc. These sit atop a lovely table, beside a large tree with little animals perched inside. There is a lake with a swan swimming around on it and several thousand items of food for Barbie and her Prince to eat. Ha! Barbie doesn’t eat! Everyone knows this, even my five year old. There is also a swing on the tree that has a skunk attached to it via a tiny plastic protuberance that spears him squarely in the skunks nether regions. (If you don’t know what a ‘nether region’ is, I am not going to explain it to you. This is a family column.) Suffice it to say that I’m quite certain Mr. Skunk is not happy about being skewered in that delicate area. I am also sure that one night soon I will need to walk through my house barefoot, the skunk on the swing will know this and plan his little skunk revenge by placing his tiny, plastic molded body under my foot.

In conclusion, I’d like to reiterate that I really do love my in-laws. I love them so much that I’m going to bring The Barbie Princess Swan to their house the very next time we visit. I’ll also bring along the tranquilizer dart gun just in case.

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