Sometimes I know that a toy is a terrible, no good, horrible idea just by glancing at it. When that happens, it stays in the store. Alexis can whine, scream, cry, beg, plead, and make all the promises she wants because I value that tiny remaining shred of sanity that I have. The toy does not enter our house. Period.

The singing Darby doll was one of those toys. Alexis first spotted it in a Disney Store months ago, and she wanted it BAAAAD. But, at $40? It was very easy to say no. She saw it again at Meijer (in Indiana) and once again, I shot her down. Then she found it in KMart. I stood my ground.

Then she got a bunch of money for her birthday. And spotted it on clearance at Wal-Mart. For $17.

The portion of my brain that HAS to capitalize on a good deal and the portion of my brain that tries to keep the whole show sane got in a fight. A BIG fight.

Sanity lost.

So, Miss Alexis handed over her very own cash to a grouchy cashier at Wal-Mart. Mr. Husband thought that it would be one of those toys that would be fun for a day or two, but then would be relegated to a back corner of a toybox. I wish he had been right.

Alas, Darby is a daily play toy and has been for a couple of weeks. Darby, whose very existence boggles my mind (Seriously--wth? Wasn't Christopher Robin enough human for Pooh?), is in our house, singing and dancing every. single. day.

She only knows one song. And two phrases. On a constant loop. Over and over and over.

"Slap my cap." What the hell is that supposed to mean anyway?

And "Think, think, think." If Darby doesn't quit with the thinking, she's going to take a swim in the garbage disposal.

Darby was in my car last Friday when it got broken into. The buttface that stole my laptop tossed her out of the way.

I think I hate him more for NOT stealing Darby than I do for breaking into my car in the first place.

Think, think, think.