The ides of March

Its my daughters birthday today. The ides of March. Not too many parents are naming their child Brutus anymore. So I feel she should be okay. Still… I’m buying her a Glock 43 for her eighteenth birthday, you know, the brazilian ju-jitsu is strong with you grasshopper, but take this sub-compact, just in case.

Anyways, happy first birthday sperm-ovum combo. Hope its a good one. You woke daddy up three times last night. So daddy had to stop and get coffee from Mugg and Bean this morning. Which is why daddy is poor and can’t afford (anymore) lego this month. Also daddy broke one of your mommys pictures hanging in the passage, because it was dark and your father, REM deprived, swung his cooler bag around in a madcap fashion dislodging said picture from the wall. He then added to the cacophony by cursing loudly (and with feeling).

I wanted to take the day off. Alas my warehouse manager is on leave. So unfortunately the onus is on me to… well I’m not entirely sure what my warehouse manager does. So I feel I’m accurately portraying him in a fashion that will cause minimum disturbance to the status quo.

I plan on ducking out later for birthday type events… and have already provided for an adequate decoy of similar management style and active decision-making-ness.

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My sales manager who is generally quite denunciatory of my blase approach to critical path selection would feel that this makes a fine simulacrum. In fact she might argue Joey 2.0 is a marked improvement over the original. I probably wouldn’t debate her on this. Mostly because she scares me ie, mid argument she might stick me with a stiletto. The heel he added afterwards, not the dagger. Jimmy choo. With the red bottoms. So you can’t see the blood.

The actual party-party is happening on Sunday afternoon. We are breaking with societal norms and having a seriously budget affair. I’ve been to some ridiculous toddler parties lately. The excess and the expense that people go to. When I turned one (you know the good old days when the lighting to everthing was slightly beige), your cousins were there. And maybe there was a cake that your mom made. These days it’s all three story inflatables, magic shows, a petting zoo and party packs that cost more than krugerrands. And this seems to be the accepted benchmark in our society.

Fucken party packs.

Apparently we risk a riot if these aren’t available post party. What the fuck. I’ve heard a story of a party where there were no party packs… the guest child was apparently so upset and his parents so attuned to their child’s needs they took back their present. And left the party in a huff. Training a well adjusted little shit right there.

So for my daughters baptism we tried this.

At the bottom of her invite we wrote. In lieu of presents would you please make a donation to her education fund. And then listed my bank details.

I thought we were being quite clever. You know how many people made donations. ONE. Lots of people promised they would, but in the end only one person actually followed through. On the plus side I only had to write one thank you email.

Dear so and so. Thank you for your donation of R200. We’ve bought our daughter 8 DBXWD, we will let you know how they do*.

*as we all know… they have done pretty much nothing.

We tried something similar for our Wedding. Me and my wife had more than enough stuff. So we asked that everyone rather than giving us money or stuff that people rather donate to our charity at the time, Husky Rescue.

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That was WAY more successful. And we ended up donating R30K to them. Like one or two people still gave us gifts. Gah! Which we re-gifted.

Weirdly it worked for the one thing, but not other. I’m dreading the gift avalanche on Sunday. Mostly because its all such a waste. You know what my daughter likes to play with…

  1. Rocks she finds in the garden.
  2. Plastic measuring cups in the kitchen (Joseph and Joseph)
  3. Plug points
  4. Keys. And not fake keys (she knows the difference)
  5. Playstation controllers, iPhones and television remotes (again can’t fake her out with non working versions)

That’s pretty much it. I mean she cycles through her toys. But really it’s usually five seconds per toy before she tosses them over her shoulder or briefly tries to eat them/tear out their eyes with her teeth.

DBXWD would be SOOOOOO much better. The gift that keeps on giving. Assuming Deutsche doesn’t go bang in spectacular fashion. Germans should stick to engineering. Leave the banking to the English*. The corruption to the Italians and Marijuana to the Dutch.

*I might have said the Swiss here. I don’t know… banking is a tough one. (Personally I feel banking is the realm of the wanker, and the English… generally speaking, definitely have more wankers) (take a stroll round Lewisham or Hounslow if you don’t believe me). A Zurich or Bern wanker is more preppy. And less obese.

Alas I am bound by the consumerism of this world. And so am designed to suffer a deluge of pink dresses, stuffed animals and creepy plastic dolls. Maybe I’ll sneak in a wrapped copy of ‘Thus spoke Zarathustra’ or, ‘If you meet the buddha on the road kill him’. That’ll will mess with my wife’s head. Ha ha ha. Actually no, she’ll immediately know it was me. Normal people don’t read that shit.

Wish me luck. If I don’t make it, know that I went down swinging…