Any parent worth his wipes knows, first, the value of diaper wipes, and second, this known and universal all-childs-are-one-child fact:
The packaging is always better than the present.
Unless the present is a Pound Puppy or a Barbie Dream House. Or a petite cameo ring studded with sapphires. Or maybe I’ve lost my prepubescent love of packaging.
If a package is received at our house, the innards (as I like to call the actual package contents) are immediately discarded for any and/or all of the following:
- Packing peanuts
- Bubble wrap
- Junk mail
- Crumpled up newspapers
- Instruction manuals
- Bits of torn off packaging tape
- The box
Seeing as how we receive a lot of boxes at our house (*shifty eyes*), I thought, what better to buy for my children something that comes to our home for free* every couple of weeks**?
* Package is free; contents are extra.
** I might have a problem.
And thus appeared before us: The Boxhouse.
It’s a large piece of cardboard with drawings on it. Cost me fifty bucks.
The kids love it. They want to LIVE in it. I would totally let them, too, but I’m waiting for the installation of the indoor plumbing.
Of course, it’s been two days and they have nearly destroyed The Boxhouse. Once Tropical Storm Sigourney arrived on the scene, there just wasn’t much hope for a structure without a foundation.
My favorite part of The Boxhouse is how it arrived. It came “unassembled” inside a box.
Inside a box.
Now THAT is an example of irony.