As I sit here poking at the keyboard, my little neighbor Zoey is playing a game on Cathy's computer (we're minding her while her mother seeks another daycare option). The missus has gone to meet with her doctor, leaving me to look after the munchkin. I'm happy to do this, because she's a little doll, and when not terrorizing my cats and vacuuming my favorite granola crackers into her expanding black hole of a maw, she's quite good company.
There are downsides, though. Well, one at least.
I have a theory as to why many parents bear those ranks of lines on their foreheads and blink quite a bit more often than we normal folk. Maybe some of it is the burden of care, being responsible for the younglings in their charge, but I suspect there is another element involved.
Every toy, every game (digital and analog), and much of the clothing and accessories manufactured for any child under the age of 12, makes a beep-boop-jingle-ringy-ringy-jangle-PING!-woopwoop-wocka-wocka goddamned noise. It's only been a couple of hours so far, but I feel that the chiming, ringing, and zing!ing has somehow coiled around my cerebral cortex and has started a rhythmic squeezing and pulsing. I'm sure there are scores of behaviorists who insist that this aural onslaught aids learning and socialization, but I'm convinced that this is a carefully crafted ruse to ensure that both parents and child will eventually need expensive therapy.
And the therapists will smile to themselves, and consult their appointment schedules and check their bank balances on their PDA devices. Bleep-bloop-bleep.
