It seems we are living as serfs under a malevolent dictator. I sort of suspected it over the last 6.5 years, but not believing it was actually possible, I simply dismissed the paralyzing thought.
It is Sunday, and Greg and I (assuming we had the day off from any parental responsibility) snuck off to the kid room to watch tv, while video games took over our role. But our peace was not to last. I think the evil dictator of Donovan-dom has camera’s everywhere, even in the chair and sofa cushions. Maybe those actually have sensors that wire a message to him immediately whenever there is pressure on them, because no sooner have either of us gotten comfortable, and he demands us to do things for him. Stupid things, like “Can you help me play Transformers, Daddy—I mean Serf?” “ I want something to drink.” “It’s my turn to play! Set the timer”
He is so demanding and evil that he even makes small children whine and cry, while they are forced to play video games that only he likes, with him. He promises to play games that they like in order to get them to do things, and then he breaks his promises.
He gets so ornery that his eyes have turned red and glassy. First the right one, and then the left one—thankfully they ooze from anger and start to glue themselves shut so we don’t have to look into them! We call this “Pink eye” at our house. He forces us to put drops into his eyes and then complains and squirms when we do.
He’s constantly moving…constantly. And he expects us to have the same amount of energy as him, but we don’t, and it only exhausts us further.
He eats constantly, remains thin, and forces us to replace the food in our home at regular intervals. There are two reasons right there to despise him.
He won’t even give me money to invest in the cereal companies that he keeps in business by his consumption of their product. But he expects me to give him points which equate to money that I owe him when he has been nice or helpful.
He’s only about 50” tall, but his presence is felt everywhere through crumbs, toys, clothes, and noise, and he encourages his minion to contribute to his presence, again, with broken promises.
We aren’t sure how much more we can handle, but we hope that at some point in the future we can pay him back by getting old, senile and pooping in our pants.