Dear Bro. and Co.,

Today I am writing to tell you the story of Sgt. Stubbs or just “Stubbs” as I like to call him.  “Who the heck is Stubbs?” you ask. – He is KeiLynn’s high chair.  How did he get the name of Sgt. Stubbs?  – We’ll get to that soon enough.  First, let’s start at the beginning.

As you know, KeiLynn is getting bigger and has begun eating solid foods:  baby food prunes, yogurt, mashed potatoes, lasagna, T-Bone steaks (bones included).  As her diet and appetite expanded, so did her reach, making it nigh impossible to try to eat and hold her at the same time.

Believe me, I held out as long as I could.  That’s how it usually is with such things.  I ask the tough, important questions:

  1. Do we really need a high chair?
  2. How long will we actually use it?
  3. How much space will it take up and where are we supposed to put it?
  4. Why can’t we just use zip ties?
  5. Does the baby really have to eat? – It only leads to more poop!

The combination of us being poor and me being “frugal”, O.K. – cheap (a direct result of being poor); led us to the second-hand store.  Over the years, this particular stores prices have sky-rocketed to astronomically ridiculous stupidity for their “gently abused” hand-me-downs and pass alongs.  No need in all of us getting out.  I sent Amanda in alone – confident that her mission to find a decent, non-crap crusted high chair for $20 or less was doomed to fail.  As she disappeared behind the forest of custom overpriced hair bows and ribbons and bleach and acid restored junk, I smiled and eased my seat back with confident satisfaction that my bank account would go unmolested this day. 🙂

Amanda had been in there a good while – never a good sign.  I began to squirm in my chair: an ever-increasing sense of doom began to loom.  Sure enough, she came frolicking out beaming and glowing in girlish retail ecstasy….. “Oh, crap!!!”  She had found a really “cute” one for $40 and another one for $20.  She sent me in to check them out and to hopefully check-out with baby throne in hand.  I stepped out and began the long walk……the Green Mile: the walk that leads to the total and complete annihilation of the small bit of cash still in checking soon to be executed for the crime of heinously having not yet been spent.

I trudged in and all the lady associates looked up and grinned eyeing me like a sick gazelle fallen behind its family – they knew why I was there.  The sound of cha-ching and the smell of wallet carcass filled the air.  I made my way to the back of the store and sure enough there they were, side-by-side like some odd couple in the middle of the floor.  It didn’t matter what she said or what she did – my brick wall determination was impervious and impenetrable.  No feminine wiles would work this day – I wasn’t going to pay more than 20 bucks for a blasted high chair!!!  I looked them over, thoroughly hoping for any excuse, any flaw or safety glitch to get me out of buying the thing.  Much to my chagrin, they were both solid.  “Crap!” Then to choose:  the girly pretty one had all the bells and whistles and seemed to smile and flirt saying, “Buy me, Big Boy!”  – Such flattery will get you nowhere with this grinch.  The other was plain, but adequate, and the price was right.  But he seemed sullen and angry; as though he were saying, “If you separate me from my woman, you’ll regret it for the rest of your days!” Of course, it’s just a baby chair:

Funny vibes aside – the price was right.  And so began the Dark Odyssey of High Chair Hell Fights – it was on; right from the beginning he proved to be a cantankerous contraption.

At first, Amanda blamed it on me being bitter about parting with 20 bucks.  She totally underestimated the Crankiness of this chair.  Her love of this baby throne would soon turn to loathing; for on the very first evening at home with it, this happened:

And thus it was the first of many stubs in our house.  It seemed no where was safe.  Not even another room.  Nothing and no one was beyond his reach.  The average foot in our house looked like this:

It was soooo bad, I went to Subway and ordered a Footlong.  When I got home and opened it, my sandwich had turned into a wrap!!!  What the….

Messing with my sandwich?  That was the final straw!!!  I snapped…..

They say some people go Ape; I honestly don’t know what I was…. other than mad and set on making this son-of-a-lazy boy pay for his trespasses against humanity and against my sandwich.  I had him bashed and nearly trashed; mashed and quite literally on his last leg when he did something rather remarkable……

Blast!!!!  He was right.  I couldn’t kill him yet.  So here we are with KeiLynn at 9 months and I’m just counting down the days till I can finish what I started.  I know what you are thinking, “Why not wait it out and sell him to get some of my money back?”  I dislike Sgt. Stubbs so much it’s worth it to destroy the evil rather than collect $5.25 for his sorry seat cushion.  Oh yeah, I’m gonna kill him.  And, I hope and pray that when they salvage him from the scrap yard that they melt him down and recycle him; I hope they bring him back as a toddler training toilet.  That, is the fate that he deserves!!!