As any new parent knows, a volume switch on a toy is your best friend, because musical/speaking childrens’ toys are categorically obnoxious and the sole variation in how desperately a toy makes you want to jam an ice pick in your brain is how SCREAMINGLY it wails the alphabet, or “Old MacDonald,” (and Christ, do I pity you poor bastards,) that shiv-me-now Barbie theme.
Unfortunately, a number of toy manufacturers not only neglect to offer this option but seemingly believe your wolf-eared tyke came into the world with the hearing of a geriatric stump; with enough listening, perhaps they soon will!
Which long ago led to my crusade against shrieking toy voice boxes, and my magical antidote: PACKING TAPE. It’s clear (with proper positioning, the kiddies are none the wiser), and you can layer it to achieve your desired volume control. I can’t tell you how many toys I’ve pulled apart and slapped that shit on just to dampen the wail and whine of tinny music, demonic dolls or that insidious Fisher-Price harpy.
So imagine my surprise when Eliot received a Tinker Bell doll that would. not. SHUT THE FUCK UP — and the voice box was impossible to find. . . I mean, it’s a DOLL, right — how hard can a stupid voice box be to find? And I’m looking in her back, all along the legs, all the obvious places, and NOTHING — and it’s this perpetual howl of “FLY WITH ME!!” and “FAIRIES FLY!!” until I pretty much want to send Tink flying into next week, and just as I’ve decided the voice box is internal and there’s no speaker, I do one last body check:
And there you have it: Tink’s box is Tink’s FUCKING BOX. Oh, Walt Disney Corp., you sick, twisted bastards: not only did you make Tinker Bell’s only means of communication THROUGH HER SNATCH, you then forced me to SILENCE IT WITH PACKING TAPE. Way to help me send a gender-positive message to my daughters, assholes.
(Somewhere, I just know Eve Ensler is giving me the disapproving finger wag. . .)