This past weekend, the whole family bundled up, got in the car, and traveled an hour to the annual York Toy Show. It’s a convention hall filled with over 900 retro toy vendors crammed into two overheated rooms, packed with people funneling through claustophobic makeshift aisles with stacks of dusty, cluttered toys jutting out and towering over you from all directions. Doesn’t that sound like an AWESOME thing to do with a one year old?
Bonus points for traumatizing him: it takes an over an hour to get there from our house. Endless car seat screaming commence!
Double bonus trauma points: OH MY GOD I BOUGHT HIM THIS
In previous years I might have come across this dingy, totally-90s, vaguely-smelling-of-mildew-and-cigarettes sweater and sighed longingly that they didn’t make it in adult sizes.
NOT ANYMORE. Now I looked at it with a salivating glint in my eye, and then I slowly looked back at my son. You know in the cartoons where Sylvester looks over at Tweety Bird imagining him as a tasty roast? That’s kind of how it was.
The seller must have saw this look in my eyes and immediately pounced. “Five bucks,” he said. I whipped out my wallet at lightspeed.
My kid is still a bit tiny for it. The sweater is more the size for an elementary schooler. Since children are cruel and won’t understand the seven layers of hipster irony and nostalgia it takes to rock this joint, my kid will probably get beat up. Triple bonus trauma points.
I’ll be sharing the other “treasures” I found at the toy show the rest of the week on the blog.