Vacuuming Play-Doh, and Other Parental Horrors.

Wait, just wait. Wait for that freaking cosmic miasma of Play-Doh to dry and become brittle, then vacuum.  A quick slough test should allay any fears. Vacuuming any sooner will result in your own personal Chernobyl.  FACT.

It’s crazy, the math I mean.  10 minutes of Play-Doh “play” equates to 6 hours of clean-up.  Totally not worth it.  And the parental guts required to keep them on task, have them cleanse the innumerable bits of doh?  Bananas.  I could scale Everest’s North Face–without a Sherpa–compared to what’s required to get my hellions to clean-up. Check-out these cherubs, nearing the end of hour 6.


I think I see a bit of Doh on the far right, glistening in the sun.

Play-Doh shenanigans don’t stop at home.  Google suggests there are 59M+ YouTube vids revolving around Play-Doh.  Those flicks are stop motion animation embolisms.  Ok, some of them are pretty cool, but the Spiderman shine-ons are an emetic.  Irregardless (not a word), and overall, these vids remind me of the seminal Beastie Boys album.  I am illed by Play-Doh.


Back to the kitchen.  Finally relieved of all things doh, an exhaustive triathlon of malleable goo complete, I give in to the human canvas request.

Dad!  We all done!  Can I give you a tattoo on yowr awm?” She’s so innocent I could pass out.

The other miscreant chimes in, “Yeah, yeah, yeah!”

“You got it.”  I mindlessly roll up my sleeve, pale bicep for the asking.

Why do I agree to be drawn on, suffer a budding artists “awkward” period, flanked by her hollering sister?  Because they’re no longer using Play-Doh.  That’s about it.  I mean it.

But I am reminded of one thing, a passing thought, a faint reminder of some other squishy kid-something–with all the attention on Play-Doh, Silly Putty must be jealous.

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