Fuck You, Mister Maker.

on

G’day Mister Maker, I have a bone to pick with you. Your hyped up enthusiasm and love for all things crafty has brainwashed my 5-year-old daughter. And I’m pissed.

No longer can I take a shit and throw out the toilet roll. Oh no. Now it has to be made into a flipping miniature rocket ship or some binoculars. Empty bottles? Sets of skittles! Egg cartons? Cardboard crabs!

You are the reason my house looks like my recycling bin threw up in every fucking room. I can’t chuck the “creations” out because we have a full-blown meltdown since everything is special and has to be kept. When we are trying to get out of the door for school I can’t hurry her along as she’s “making it in a minute!” ARRRGGGGHHHH.

Do you think she actually makes it in a minute? NO! Much like 2-minute noodles cannot be cooked in two minutes. Perhaps in the test kitchen, they can. But real-life situations are far from this claim.

Every. Fucking. Day.

Oh yes. I’ve often got a rabid 5-year-old running naked through my house wearing a Mister Maker mask and throwing balls at her paper skittles. There are pipe cleaners and balls of air dried clay in every single corner of my house and I am about to lose my shit.

I thought I would entertain her passion by visiting the arts and craft shop RIOT and getting her all the essential stuff that pops up in a lot of your projects. But I was simply adding fuel to the fire. Since then the obsession has reached warp speed and there is no coming back from this. She sticky taped all her toys up for no good reason, stuck stickers all over her bed, covered her entire body in stickers and pen and can’t walk past a box of googly eyes without finding something to make into a fucking pet. I hate you!

I even found myself buying tickets to your upcoming Melbourne show. Why? because my daughter thinks you are God. And even though I am continuously picking up bits of shit from the floor, the couch, the bed and the hallway, I really want to make her happy. But ever since I bought those godforsaken tickets I have “I am a shape, la la la” in my head. Am I a circle? A square? A Rectangle? Or just a fucking idiot for spending good coin on some nosebleed tickets to a live craft show. You be the judge.

Nice to see you.

Tell me what you make of this, Mister Maker. I’m seeing a big old pile of shit, but she will not let me put it in the bin even though she made this weeks ago. Is that a Peruvian pan flute on the side? I seriously can’t deal.

WTAF

Fuck you Mister Maker. Fuck your egg cartons and your shapes and your make it in a minute bullshit. You are ruining my life one toilet roll at a time. Fuck your cardboard crabs and your bottle bowling alley and your paper plate fish fin aquatics lesson. There is not enough room in my neighbours recycling bin for all this extra crap that is slowly mounting and turning my home into one of those hoarders nests.

But I’ll tell you this.

In a world of disposable everything and iPad screens and digital technology, you are keeping it real and kinda old school. And I like that. Despite my hatred for all the bits and bobs all over my house, I know you mean well. And you are, I guess, teaching our youngsters how to recycle and repurpose everyday household items. Maybe I’ve been harsh.

So I’ll be waiting for you, Mister Maker. I’m coming to your Melbourne show. I’ll be the one chucking toilet rolls and egg cartons at your head while my kids cut some shapes and have the best day of their little lives.

THE END

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2 Comments Add yours

  1. Nicole says:

    HAHA lifted my shit day to a way better level. Far Kew delivers again. Thanks so much xx

    1. Far Kew says:

      You are so very welcome!

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