More Than Meets the Sledgehammer

Transformers. Completely overrated fifteen dollar toy. Or at least the one I finally bought for my son today after weeks and weeks of hyping it up. You see, I bribe my son to use the potty because when it comes down to it, I'm not above paying for potty training. I will sell a few Graco strollers on Craigslist if it means I don't have to dole out Gummy Bears like a Pez dispenser every time he takes a leak or makes a charlie in the john. I saw an opportunity when G responded so well to the gigantic Transformer at the Air & Space Museum. Since that day he has been a walking-talking advertisement about "the scary one with the face."

The search commenced and after much bumbling and fumbling around town, I finally find (and the angels sing) ... a Target. There I bought G "Soundscream" or some such terrifying amalgam of plastic. It was the only one that morphed into two elements that looked awesome instead of into just one element that is a regular old car or a dump truck or a pot of yellow tulips. G is ready for that level of challenge. His parents, however, clearly are not.

Do you KNOW how hard these emmer effers are to transform? Seriously, there is a problem when I need to find the nearest four year old as my tutor. I can see it now:

At the Local Park-
Me: "Hi. How old are you? Five? Four's better but five will do. You think you could help me turn this into a rocket launcher, honey?"

I'm sure that will go over big with the judge and the five attorneys it will take to get me out of maximun security prison. All for this small city of plastic parts that taunt me with their rotating joints and flexible wingspans. It's like a Rubik's Cube for NASA junkies. Like a puzzle ring for gifted children. Like a sharp pain in my left bum bum cheek.

In my opinion? They should come with directions that tell you how to burn it without emitting noxious fumes into the ozone because that's the exact only thing left to do after twisting and torquing that SOB for three hours under a yellow kitchen lamp. I'll have you know that my husband and I both have Masters degrees and neither of us could get the wing thing to fit into the sword thing (sexy.) Humbling is not even the word. In fact, he was so consumed with transforming it into Space Cruiser Mode that he left me hanging during bath time with one hostile baby (wild orangutan) desperately trying to jump back into the tub in which her brother (gangly waterbug) was wading. And of course this leads to a scene from "The Time a Boy Hyperventilated and Died Because his Face Got Wet with Exactly Four Drops of Water." (I think it's swimming lesson time. Another blog.)

Anyway, I digress. In Review: Here is what I think of Transformers. AKA The reason my husband won't be letting me pick out the toys with which we bribe the children. Gummy Bear aisle, here we come.