We took the kids down to DC for a few days last week. Pepper has been working on a research paper about Abraham Lincoln all year and Peanut is crazy obsessed about all sorts of facts and figures about US history. We figured they were finally old enough to remember some of the national treasures they would be exposed to. What we didn't count on them being exposed to was the casual bedroom kink that is apparently the norm in our nation's capital.
Let me first explain that the handcuffs were NOT MY IDEA. In fact, when I reunited with my little nuclear unit after they'd spent the morning at the Spy Museum without me, I was slightly appalled at the items Their Father approved for purchase at the gift shop. I would have okayed a spy camera, or periscope pen, or some such non-weaponry gadget, but handcuffs? My first thought when the kids excitedly pulled out their matching pairs was, "Oh, dear Lord. That is SUCH a DAD purchase." Of course it's a sweeping generalization, but there are just some things moms would think twice about purchasing, and I dare say dual sets of handcuffs, despite the safety levers supposedly preventing them from truly locking, would be such an item.
In the 10 seconds it took for the kids to open up the boxes and demonstrate for me their new souvenirs, I wondered how long it would take for the EMTs to cut Peanut loose from the Metro train handrail when he accidentally jammed the lock on those suckers. Would we cause a giant commuting nightmare? "Orange line train service was interrupted today thanks to a freak accident...." The image of Pepper's tear-streaked face peeking out from behind a serious and concerned accentless field reporter flashed through my brain, and I pictured the pub stool sitters watching the news segment on the plasmas lined up in the bar shaking their heads and debating the parental fitness of those who would purchase such things for their cherubs.
I rolled my eyes at Dr. V., signed dramatically, and confiscated the keys immediately. Then we headed off to yet another museum, and back at the hotel that night I was proven correct in my assessment that the cheap things were a DAD purchase after I had to jam a fork into one pair to release the "non-locking" lever which had - DUHHH!!!! - become stuck.
We spent our last day out in the suburbs with wonderful old friends who we don't get to see nearly often enough. The children got along well, the dinner was terrific, and it was a wonderful wrap-up to our 5-night trip. When we got back to the hotel, the room had been tidied up by housekeeping. (I should mention that we like to stay in hotels with kitchenettes (due to the food allergies) and multiple bedrooms when not too exorbitantly expensive, and I'd found us a sweet deal at a Residence Inn. We had two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a pull-out sofa in the living room and a full kitchen, and it was awesome to have so much space for a fairly long visit.)
I mention the layout because I distinctly remembered piling all the various toys and gift shop crapola on a coffee table in the living room, including at least one set of the handcuffs, so when I stepped into the master bedroom, I burst into laughter at the sight of one shiny set of handcuffs carefully arranged on each nightstand.
Thank you, housekeeping, for confirming my suspicion about the special kind of people our nation's capital attracts!
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