It’s hard to predict which things my children are going to truly value. I’ve had the experience of watching my little ones play for hours with the box rather than the contents. I’ve provided gorgeous, plushy, irresistibly cute lovies for them to go to bed with, then watched them fall in love with a cross-eyed monster that looks like it was made out of dishrags and unwashed knickers. I once threw out a half-disembowelled stuffed apple with a face on, in what I thought was a mercy killing, only to discover I’d just got rid of a much-valued patient from the Toy Hospital.
As a result, I’m cautious about throwing away things that belong to the kids. But surely, surely, I must be on safe ground with this one.
We got this out of a mechanical-grabber toy-vending machine at the pub we sometimes go to for lunch at the weekend. What it was doing in there in the first place, I really can’t say. A purse with the name “Emily” on it seems a strangely specific choice for a machine where no other named item of any description is provided. Do girls called Emily have a greater-than-average propensity to buy things with their name on? This seems unlikely.
Similarly, I don’t really know how my son came to pick it out. I did try to get to the bottom of it, but he launched into one of those endless rambling non-explanations that lasts until the end of time and gives you every conceivable piece of information apart from the one thing you actually wanted to know, and after the first few minutes I decided life was too short and sent him off to the soft-play instead. Next, I tried asking my daughter, but the best she could manage was that “It was some sort of mistake”. (Um, thanks for that.)
However, the upshot of this is: we now own a small, crap purse with the name “Emily” printed all over it. Its design appears to have been specifically developed to make sure your children will lose things whenever they open it. The clip is not much use as a clip, but is excellent at manicuring your fingernails, as long as that your manicure goal was to have raggedy half-moon-shapes chopped out of the ends of each of your nails. Also, neither of my children are even called Emily.
I want to throw this away. I really, really do. But when I opened it to check there wasn’t anything useful inside, I found this crammed inside it –
And now I daren’t do it, just in case this pig’s name is Emily and the purse is its house and I am going to be the worst mummy in Creation for callously evicting her.