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Leftist’s Eyes are Fixed on Your Happy Meal
Posted By Rhonda Robinson On October 5, 2010 @ 9:00 pm In NewsReal Blog | 2 Comments
When I was a young mother, I developed a deep disdain for socks, gumball machines and Happy Meals. Each one of these may seem benign to the average person. But for a mother of a multitude of children, in one-way or another, they all exasperated me.
With nine children and one husband, each owning two feet, in continuous need of clean (forget matching) socks– well, you do the math.
The same goes for gumball machines. When you start multiplying quarters, the time it takes for everyone to have a turn, one simple treat becomes an expensive sugar-laced ordeal with a sad ending. By far, the worst offenders were Happy Meals.
In one of my weak moments, I allowed my youngest daughter an attempt to fulfill her dreams of a gumball machine mood ring. She had her own quarter and was willing to part with it in hopes of said ring. What she got instead was a frightening life lesson.
Emily was about six years old at the time. I warned her, that putting money into one of those machines rarely produced the desired trinket. My motherly wisdom fell on indifferent ears. She was sure this time would be different. She put her money in, cranked the handle and off we went. I paid little attention to what she actually got.
On the way home I noticed Emily was uncharacteristically quiet; her eyes were downcast, staring into her hands.
“What did you get?” I asked optimistically.
Without saying a word, she held up an eyeball. It was sticky and slimy. The goo stuck to her fingers as she examined it. Her face was covered in disgust.
“Are you upset because you wasted your money?”
She nodded yes.
“You can throw it away honey. You don’t have to keep it.”
With a look of relief, she cracked the window and tossed the creepy eyeball out. She seemed to be glad it was gone. As I was looking for the right words to comfort her, I glanced over and saw the eyeball stuck to the passenger window, now peering in at the unsuspecting six-year-old.
Noting the look on my face, she turned to see what had my attention. It was at that moment that the eyeball began to slowly roll down the window—still staring, watching, oozing its way down the glass.
A mixture of laughter and screams rang out as the eyeball continued its journey –bit by bit. I’ll let you guess who was doing the laughing and who was doing the screaming—suffice it to say we both had tears in our eyes.
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