Saturday, May 2, 2009

CPR (Child's Play Revisited)


Ever since my five-year-old was living on the inside, I’ve been meaning to get CPR training. Even on a good day, the little buggers are scary as shit. One false move, one dropped guard, one absent-mindedly tossed Starlight mint, and bam! Your world implodes. If you don’t have a kid yet, I don’t recommend them. Just one live grenade after another.

Take the day I recklessly gave my kid a dried cherry. Fruit, for Chissake. I know I read somewhere that’s what good mothers give their kids. And hell if it didn’t almost kill him. I noticed he was sort of staggering as he headed my way, which I didn’t think too much of since I do allow him moderate amounts of tequila before naptime. But then I noticed that his eyeballs were clearly trying to escape his face. They woulda made it too, if I hadn’t expertly sized up the situation and sprung into action. Although I hadn’t had any sort of first aid training, you never would have known it watching my slick response. Straight outta textbook, I picked him up, shook him violently, and screamed his name over and over until a slobbery little fruit bullet just came a-shooting right out of him.

Really, I don’t know why I wasted my time signing up for conventional training today when the old home methods still work just fine. But the course was free and held the promise of good snacks, so what the hell. Besides, who doesn’t like working all day and then going to a lame workshop on a Friday night?

One thing you probably don’t know about me is that I have a perfectly rational fear of dolls. Not all dolls. That would be silly. Just the ones that come to life at night and kill people. You know, dolls like this . . .

It’s not even possible that this doll doesn’t come to life at night so save your breath. The only thing that kept me in that room was utter devotion to my child. That, and the fact that it was still light outside and none of the chicks in the class were even remotely hot. Everybody knows nobody ever gets murdered by a doll until after a hot chick takes off her shirt. I think that’s a rule.

But seriously, even if you don’t know about the dolls who come to life at night? Even an ignorant fool like you would be smart enough to be creeped out by this, right?

It was a six hour class condensed down to five, and did I mention it was held on a Friday night after work? Plus there was the whole waiting for my imminent ghoulish murder and all. So I don’t really know how much got stored in the long term file cabinet. But I do clearly remember her saying, and I quote, “If you’re trying to resuscitate a baby, just use the air stored between your cheeks.” Which sounds really rude to me, but I swear that’s exactly what she said.

It was right about then that I noticed this . . .

The last place I saw a mess like that was the ladies' room at Backstreet. Great, now I’ve pissed him off and left a color swatch.

I am so fucked.


1 comment:

Dr. D said...

oh my sicko. :-)