A couple months ago I discovered something horrific in my house.
Rainbow loom?
No, worse.
The entire Caillou CD collection?
No. Worse.
Drugs? Condoms?
No. Even worse.
A couple months ago I discovered fucking Shopkins in my house.
I have no idea how they got there, where they came from, or who supplied them to my children.
But I’m pretty sure there’s a fucking Shopkins dealer working Number 5 and 6’s playground.
If you don’t know what the fuck I’m talking about, be thankful.
Because they fucking suck.
Fucking Shopkins are little plastic, um… things. Shoes. Cheese Wedges. Apples. Bowls of spaghetti. They aren’t much bigger than a postage stamp. And they are fucking stupid.
There are apparently 4 “seasons” of fucking Shopkins. I have no idea what the hell that even means. But the true fucking Shopkin disciple will let you know she needs to have them all.
If you haven’t had the pleasure of experiencing these things, let me give you a glimpse into the world of owning fucking Shopkins:
Scenario 1
Mom: Okay, everyone’s buckled! Let’s go!
Six-year-old child: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mom: What? Are you okay? What happened? Are you hurt?
Six-year-old child: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!
Mom: WHAT’S THE MATTER?
Six-year-old child: MY SHOPKINNNNNNNNNSSSSSSSSSSSSSS! I FORGOT THEEEEEEMMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!!!!!!!
Scenario 2
Five-year-old child: WWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Mom: What’s going on up there?
Five-year-old child: WWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Mom: Are you okay? Are you bleeding?
Five-year-old child: WWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!!
Mom: What’s wrong? ARE YOU ON FIRE???
Five-year-old child: SHE TOOK MY SHOPKINS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
Scenario 3:
Six-year-old girl: WWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!
Mom: IF YOU ARE CRYING ABOUT THE FUCKING SHOPKINS AGAIN I AM GOING TO THROW THEM INTO THE FIREPLACE AND THEN YOU’LL REALLY HAVE SOMETHING TO CRY ABOUT.
Uh huh. This is your life on Shopkins. It sucks.
Number 5 has about ten of them. I have no idea where she got them. Apparently there are like 150 of them.
I asked Number 5 what you were supposed to do with them.
Her answer?
Nothing.
Are you fucking kidding me?
When I was a kid we had toys that were actually, um… toys. They had a point. You did shit with them.
Whether it was Simon or a Cabbage Patch Doll or Spirograph or a Chinese Jump Rope or a Rubix cube, it had a fucking purpose.
And I hate to sound like my grandfather, but while these little mothereffers might be miniature (sort of) replicas of something, they definitely aren’t fucking toys.
shopkins are akin to trading cards (baseball etc)
——–
not in my house …because just no.
I think I am the same age as you and I remember several toys like these but we called them “collections”. I had smurf figurines, stickers that I never actually stuck anywhere but just collected them in books, my sister collected Garbage Pail kid cards. I think moving to other side as a parent we realize how annoying they are. 🙂 I am dealing with football cards in this house. The boys want me to buy them lots of cards and then they don’t take care of them and I find them all over the place.
I am a serious lurker of your blog, I’ve read EVERY post but never comment…
I read this, giggled and clicked on the little ‘2’ for next page in case I missed one… It was shopkins again. Clicked ‘3’.. Same deal. And I thought OH FUCK THE SHOPKINS HAVE USURPED THE BLOG NOOOO SUUUUSIEEEEE!!!!
I’m telling you this less as a tech report and more in the hope you giggle too. It’s probably because I have never ever updated my smart(dumb)phone.
I really really love your corner of the internet, thank you so much for sharing. Your writing is a big comfort and joy to a stay at home single mom. <3
Nooooo!
I don’t want any more tiny little things in my house!