An unfiltered fire hose of flaming condemnation

It’s Pinkie Pie!

This dastardly toy can say its own name and when it does it always follows it up with a high-pitched giggle. I finally couldn’t take it anymore, and since I couldn’t figure out how to remove the batteries I just hid the damn thing. It’s lucky I didn’t have a handy ax lying around.

Last night after dinner Marlo kept saying she wanted to get a “real” puppy.

“Marlo, you have two dogs RIGHT HERE,” I said pointing to Chuck and Coco.

“UGH. Not them. I want a REAL one,” she said.

“These are as real as dogs get, sweetie.”

“But I want one that can talk.”

“You want a puppy who can talk.”

“Yesth!” she said. “A real puppy who can talk and sthing with me.”

So I went to the closet where I had hid the toy, set it on the countertop and said, “Here. It’s not a puppy, but it can say its own name. And you don’t have to clean up its poop.”

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Heather B. Armstrong

Hi. I’m Heather B. Armstrong, and this used to be called mommy blogging. But then they started calling it Influencer Marketing: hashtag ad, hashtag sponsored, hashtag you know you want me to slap your product on my kid and exploit her for millions and millions of dollars. That’s how this shit works. Now? Well… sit back, buckle up, and enjoy the ride.

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