Over-thowing the Idiot Box

 

BabyDuck: 1 – Giant TV: 0
—————————
For whatever insane reason, the school decided to amalgamate the AM and PM kindergarten classes into one giant PM class today.

Probably because the administration are hateful people who like to watch parents throw daycare money down the drain.
(Or maybe because there was an “important” concert that was going on at the school, and the AM kids were going to miss out if they had their regular class. )

Either way, it cost me money to keep BabyDuck home in the morning, and it’s a good damn thing that I didn’t have anything else scheduled today. Other parents? Not so lucky.

So.

BabyDuck finished her lunch, and went to the basement to watch the same shitty Dora video she has been watching since 2008.

I do not have cable, and despite my mother sending BabyDuck and The Goose new videos to watch, BabyDuck wants to mouth all the words to Dora verbatim.
Fine.
Boring is your choice, kid.

Now.

The Old Man and I wouldn’t even own a TV if Big Daddy (the Old Man’s pappy) hadn’t Gone To The Home forevers after his stroke.
When Big Daddy could no longer be trusted to take care of himself (although I don’t actually think that he was ever actually capable of that, but I digress) The Old Man came home with Big Daddy’s gigantic, megalithic, mid-90’s beast that previously functioned as a 24 hour nekkid lady theatre. In its new purpose as a babysitter, it has been a vehicle for Dora and Diego franchise schmaltz. The ugly thing weighs about 100 lbs, and I have previously injured my back trying to move it. It lives on top of an entertainment stand, about 1.5 feet off the ground.

I was on the main floor, putting lunch fixings back in the fridge. Out of nowhere, I hear a massive CRASH, CRASH, followed by BabyDuck SCREAMING. Not just “Oh noes, a spider has run by me” screaming.

DYING ANIMAL SCREAMING.
I throw down the lunch meat I was wrapping (this is not euphemistic), and go flying down the stairs, expecting my kid to be crushed by a falling telescopic pole or having impaled herself while trying to figure skate across the carpet with my skates on her feet and scissors in her hand.

Nope.

The TV is lying face down on the carpet, completely incapacitated. It is hissing and angry, and has dented and crushed the almost deceased DVD player, which is making death noises. The power cord to the TV is dangerously close to being entirely wrenched out of the back of the TV. The wall outlet is skewed to the side. Power prongs are bent.

BabyDuck is not in the room. She’s in the bathroom, screaming and rocking.

Me: “OHMYFUCKINGGODKIDAREYOUHURT?”
BabyDuck: *wail*
Me: “AREYOUHURT?WEREYOUUNDERTHETV?DOWENEEDTOGOTOTHEHOSPITAL?”

*I proceed to do the freaked out first aid assessment on my kid*

Mercifully, I see nothing. Or at least, externally. Maybe it landed on her, and she’s bleeding from the inside? FUCK. FUCK.

BabyDuck: I was playing with the TV with my feet, and it felllllllll *sob*
Me: Did you get hurt?
BabyDuck: *sob* Nooooooooo. The TV is hurt. *wail*
Me: I’m so glad you’re not hurt.
My brain: ERMAHGERD. FREAKOUTFREAKOUTFREAKOUTBLINDTERROR!!!

So I sat there and rocked her, wiped her snotty nose, praised my maker for sparing her life, and felt my blood pressure go right through the roof. What the hell makes kids think it’s a good idea to lie on the ground and push the TV with their feet?
———————

The TV is now in the garage, waiting for a dump run.

It is not being replaced.
Frankly, I’m not going to miss it, or Twinkies, or Wonderbread: all things that the world lost today.
I’m glad the little bugger is safe, but she’s lucky that she isn’t living in another era, because DAMN.
A hide tanning would have been in order.
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