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©2000 Bonnie Wren
All Rights Reserved

The End of Life as We Know It

Hell froze over.

The four horsemen of the apocalypse would surely ride into the cul-de-sac at any moment.

I knew this was so because my son gave away all of his Pokemon cards.

He held a stack of them, about six inches high. First, he said good-bye to his cousins and his aunt and uncle. Then he said goodbye to his cards.

"Here, Scotty, these are for you!"

Scotty was speechless. So was I. The back of my fist was shoved into my mouth to prevent me from screaming.

As the boys hugged, I tried to recover. I wanted to say, "My God! How could you? Every cent of your birthday and allowance money spent on cards you're just going to give away? Did I give birth to this indifference to the value of a buck?"

But I didn't say that. Instead, I choked out the only thing darting about my cranium that was safe for public consumption.

"Son," I gulped, "why don't you give your cousin Katie some Pokemon cards, too?"

"But, Mom, she already got rid of her cards. Scotty still wants them, though."

Katie dumped her cards, too? This was bad news. 

I knew the Pokemon craze would end eventually, just like I knew one day I'd turn 40. But so soon? It wasn't fair. I wasn't ready. Talk about a major paradigm shift.

And what to do with that suitcase stockpile of Pokemon packs in the closet? It'd seemed like a brilliant idea at the time--a stash hidden for quickie presents, so when neighbor kids' birthdays sneaked up on me I wouldn't have to rush to the store.

But my idea wasn't looking so smart as we waved goodbye to my son's Pokemon cards.

As I glumly wondered how I'd dump a suitcase full of passé cards, Hubby tried to salvage a meaningful object lesson for the boys from the year's Pokemon frenzy.

"I told you so," he said.

"Dad!"

"I told you by Christmas you wouldn't care about Pokemon anymore. But you said, 'Dad!' We'll ALWAYS love Pokemon!'" His voice dropped back into its normal range. "And I was right. The natural order of the universe is maintained."

The boys rolled their eyes. I kept out of the conversation, not wanting the subject of the suitcase to come up.

I guess it wouldn't have been such a big deal if I'd gone through it before, but Pokemon was our first big fad. Somehow we never got bitten by the Beanie Bug, despite accidentally buying two early Beanies that would now be quite valuable if 1) I hadn't taken the tags off (who knew?) and 2) I hadn't tossed them into the wash when they got dirty (I repeat, who knew?).

But when the boys fell for Pokemon, it was their first time and they fell hard. I guess I did, too.

Hubby polished his fingernails on his pecs. "You may say it now: 'Dad is NEVER wrong.'"

"Dad!" cried the boys. "Pokemon is nothing next to Magic cards."

Ah. Magic, the Gathering cards. The replacement wasn't just looming on the horizon, it was already in the door. And the boys' empty plastic card-holders weren't even cold yet.

Well. I wouldn't get caught up in this fad. They could spend their money on Magic cards but not me. I learned my lesson. Never again would I be caught with a suitcase full of yesterday's news. Not in this life.

"Mom," said my son, "Greg's birthday is coming up and he wants Magic cards."

Darn.

I just hate these Infernal cold fronts.

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Dispatches from the Battle of the Bulge:

Dawn of the Peeps,

Use the Force, Ellie Mae,

Mr. Beefcakes Goes for the Burn, and

My Chicharones

Critters who live here, too...

Catwoman,

Go Away! Ant that Means YOU,

Babies on Board


PLEASE NOTE: This is my old website. My new website is HERE.

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©2003 Bonnie Wren. All Rights Reserved

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