Targeting the Revolution
By: Ann Brown
Don’t despair, there is hope for the world. I met her. She is two and a half years old, and we can expect great things from her in the future.
The little girl, whom we will call The Little Girl, made her stand at Target last Wednesday. After an hour of “I want that!” “No, we are not buying that today!” “But I WANT THAT!” what her parents wanted was to leave the damn store. She, however, wanted to stay, finding a screaming match with her parents at Target on a rainy Wednesday afternoon to be a capital idea.
Negotiations proved unfruitful. Cajoling proved embarrassing. (If you’ve ever had a two-year-old roll his eyes at your desperate, high-pitched, smiley-faced declaration that it is FUN to leave the toy aisle at a store and SUPER FUN to get back into the car and go home for a nap – as I experienced many times with my kids – you know how embarrassing cajoling can be. Your kid looks at you with the same pity-disgust that the salesgirls at Forever 21 look at me when I take a pair of size 6 jeans into the dressing room. No one is fooling anyone. My ass cannot Occupy those jeans.) Bribes were laughable. Threats were pathetic. Tension was palpable.
So, The Little Girl, taking her cue from Zuccotti Park, Rosa Parks, and Trey Arrow, strapped herself into the cart. She Occupied that fucking cart.
Remember that moment, all of you parents out there, when the light comes into your child’s eyes with the sudden realization that “you can’t make me” is actually true? For me, that was the moment I discovered that my children were growing up. Also, that mixing alcohol and painkillers – for all of us – nicely takes the sting out of raising kids. Also, that there is a direct correlation between your kids defying you and the sudden loss of libido for your own husband. As well as the sudden desire to eat a large hot dog while doing naked jumping jacks in front of Armand Assante.
Where was I? Oh, Target. Right.
What happened next doesn’t matter. Well, at least, not to me. It wasn’t my kid, so the relevant part of the story is over. I imagine the parents worked it out. I will be at Target next week, however, and if they are still there I’ll blog more about it.
What does matter, what the relevant part of the story is, is that we keep the spirit of unreasonable, contrarian protest alive. We are all way too compliant.
Okay, well, not all of us are too compliant. There are courageous people out there who are Occupying their corner of the world (shout-out to Karin Lightstone), refusing to be marginalized. And I suppose I could join them. But in my defense, so many of them are unattractive.
(PS to Karin: Bubbele, you are gorgeous. So gorgeous that what the hell are you doing protesting in a park when you could totally bag yourself a rich man?)
But the middle-aged woman without a brassiere? Occupy your boobs, honey. Occupy them right now. With strong underwire.
In addition to being unattractive, the Occupiers misuse grammar on their placards, which is the real dealbreaker for me. I mean, for fuck’s sake, WERE NOT GOING ANYWHERE is not gonna get you a ticket into my revolution. But add an apostrophe (and a sturdy bra) and maybe I’m listening.
Now, let’s strap ourselves into our carts and get going.