A Little Lagniappe, August 25 (’14)
My wife told me yesterday she had managed to land another buyer for some of our son’s old toys. I’m always amazed at her ability to find strangers and get them to buy our stuff. It’s not that we have bad stuff; it’s that I’m stuck in a world of paper garage sale signs while she’s scouring Facebook Garage Sale Locales with tens of thousands of buyers and sellers. I’m in dial-up while she’s 4G. I like it this way.
In this particular instance, she’s found someone to give us $5 for a toy cell phone that—if it’s modeled after a real cell phone—has to be closer to 1992’s model than 2012’s. It’s bulky, clunky, oddly colored. It’s a kid’s toy, through-and-through. I don’t think it was worth $20 new, and I don’t think it’s worth the trip to the dumpster, but alas, she has a buyer.
It all seems bizarre to me. Why are we putting toy cell phones in the hands of our children? Why are we so quick to keep the real thing in ours?