The parenting pleasure and pain of Black Friday

Black Friday. Nuts eh.

No, I’m not going to run on about the insanity of people fighting over bargains. Hell there were bargains to be had. It was nuts the length it drove me to for my children and who doesn’t love a bargain?

Me apparently. I didn’t camp out to join these nutters eager shoppers to get 75% off a telly, but how the f*** could I ignore the 3,468, 362 emails from every single company I’ve ever visited online who were promising me their first born if I shopped ON BLACK FRIDAY.

Asda was one of these pretty gems luring me into its sparkly sights and at 9pm on Friday I decided to “just pop and see” if they still had the Little Tikes Playhouse for the insanely cheap price of £49.

And you know what – after walking through the empty aisles of forlorn looking shoppers who had missed the items they wanted to let out their latent anger and punch someone for, I found not one, but four of the beauties left. WIN.

Now this should end there, the sweet triumph in the church of consumerism. But no.

The thing about the playhouse is it’s big. It came in a big box. A box that even Geoff Capes would’ve struggled to shift. So I found myself with somewhat of a dilemma. How would I lift it? How would I get it from the shop into my car? As I pondered these questions while punching my number into the credit card machine, the ray of shining light in the form of “James” came to my rescue. James, the Asda trolley dolly, was going to help me.

On the walk across the incredibly busy car park (is Asda ever quiet?) I told James how easy it would be to put the mammoth box in my car. “I have a Vauxhall Zafira” I said. “The boot is enormous” I said. “It can seat seven” I said. “This should be easy” I said.

Apparently not.

By 9.40pm after several attempts, James and I realised the box wasn’t going to go in the car, however I rearranged car seats or the vast quantities of toot I keep in there (why the need for three rugs, why?).

by 9.55pm, at the point I was going to weep, admit defeat, curse every cell in my body for being drawn into the lure of the cheap playhouse, James my knight launched into some kind of mathematical genius, took all the huge plastic parts from the box and magically fitted them in my car. He managed to take apart pieces of the car I never knew you take apart. It’s like a Lego set in there.

I heart you James.

Despite the plastic roof giving me mere millimeters to change gear, and nearly being garroted by one of the side panels, the beast was brought home. It was a somewhat painful process, and now, we have a plastic monstrosity of a playhouse in the garden that the kids absolutely love, so the pain kinda continues. But I’m seeing the positives: their little faces when they started screaming “hoooooooooouse” was awesome. And it’s almost like the duck-egg blue wooden vintage decorated summerhouse I’ve always wanted. Almost!

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