Crap!

This past Saturday, Amanda, Grace, and I hit Ocean City for a fun night on the beach and boardwalk.  An impromptu farewell to summer.  Of course, I posted photos online for all the world to see.  However, beneath that perfect Facebook Facade, trouble lurked.  A moment occurred Saturday that I have been dreading for a long time.  Grace asked THE question.  A question I've been putting off facing.  No, she didn't ask where babies come from. That explanation would have taken less time.  No, she looked me straight in the eye and asked if she could redeem the arcade tickets she has been stockpiling all summer.

This might not be a big deal in your household, but my daughter is a slow motion shopper. Possessing a fistful of tickets, she paces the prize counter perusing the wildly overpriced junk treasures with the care reserved for selecting a new car. I've seen people be less discerning when picking a grad school.   I hate the endless selection process so much I tried to convince Grace, each time we went to the arcade over the summer, to save her tickets for a bigger prize down the road.  Being a master procrastinator, I was able move her in that direction more often than not.   Unfortunately, the master procrastinator also knows the bill always comes due.  Well, Saturday night was time to pay up.  Thanks to good karma, the generosity of strangers, and LOTS of quarters my kid had accumulated almost 1500 tickets.  That buys a mess of trinkets.  Fearing that I'm going to spend an hour watching her purchase a bucketload of vampire teeth, superballs, and gooey wacky wall walkers, I tried steering Grace towards one big purchase.  Surely, there was a big stuffed animal or something she could plunk down her 1500 tickets for so we could get back to the boardwalk.

Unimpressed by my suggestion to splurge on a set of, uh, some sort of ceramic bowls for 1400 tickets, Grace rolled her eyes and began her slow, perusing stroll up and down the counter.  I could see the "Beautiful Mind" mathematical calculations processing in her head as she sought maximize the junk to ticket ratio.  What an array of garbage there is to choose from!  Plush, plastic, and, no doubt, lead-covered straight out of China.  She broke the ice with a plush cube decorated with emojis. (What is it with kids and the emoji worship these days?  I swear if there was an Emojesus
 Grace would ask to transfer to that church.)  Next, she reached for a cheap plastic, Barbie-sized mermaid.  I stopped her, reminding her she has plenty of dolls.

Shut up, you idiot! That plastic fish lady costs 300 tix, or one-fifth of her budget.  Do you want to get out of here or not?

Good point, Voice In My Head!  Who cares if I'll be tripping over it later tonight?  The mermaid was in, as were some dolphin earrings, and a beach scene "sand globe."  Suddenly, we were actually shopping at a decent pace.  Then I heard an excited squeal of delight.  I had to double-check it wasn't me happy at the prospect of almost being finished.  No, it was a shriek that could only be elicited by the discovery of a poop emoji.  In this case, a plush poop emoji keychain.  I'm pretty laid back, but I can't stand the poop emoji.  I think it is dumb, gross, and likely portends the end of civilized society as we know it.  Maybe it was the clamor of the arcade machines and all the flashing casino lights, maybe it was the idea that the only thing that stood between me and escaping the prize counter until next summer was a 200 ticket key ring.  Whatever the reason, I gave the thumbs up and we got the heck out of there.  I'm not sure whose smile was wider-mine, Grace's, or the grinning swirl of poo in her prize bag.

 And if trading a giant stack of tickets for a pile of shit isn't symbolic of our trip to the arcade, I don't know what is.