Peanutmaggeddon

A group of friends of mine from high school and I are in a fantasy football league. We started it a few years ago and have awarded 2 champions. It's a wonderful way to connect during the football season, and fun to banter with old friends. I am the commissioner, and we do not yet play for money, solely for connection and a large trophy that gets sent to the winner, and a small one for the last place finisher.

In 2015/16 season, I won the championship. It was hard fought if one can fight hard for a fantasy trophy, and really the result of several last minute waiver wire pick ups which put me over the top in the championship. As a result of winning, the previous year's champion must have my name engraved on our trophy, and ship it safely to me for a years display in my home. Last year's champion took his sweet time shipping out the award I should say, I think he may value the "Sooper Chargers Fantasy Football Trophy" a bit more than the several daytime emmy's he has won, but I can't yet prove the theory and likely never will. Fun story, through his work, he was able to show the trophy to one of the players he drafted, so me and Kevin Bacon just got a little closer on the degrees of separation chart I'm sure. Anyways;

In a twist of devious, because he rolls like that, he packed the trophy in a gigantic oversized box filled with those horrendous white packing peanuts. Gigantic oversized box, filled with white peanuts.

Anyone who does this, is intent on messing up your home, don't be fooled by claims of "I didn't know any better". Specifically, they have a master plan which involves static and foam plastering themselves to everything, and making it look like Christmas inside your residence.

Mankind has made it to the moon, mastered aerial flight, cured Polio, and we have not yet moved past peanut packaging.

So as all adults know, you do not let your children rip open these boxes, lest you prepare for peanutmaggeddon. But I was at work, and the kids were at home, and my wife has never experienced this.

My daughters ripped in, finding the glorious trophy. It should have been stamped "Fragile" and been revered like the leg lamp from A Christmas Story, but I wasn't home to replay the scene. The trophy is roughly 48" high and top heavy, so if my wife decides to clean it someday and I come home to shattered pieces of a broken man sitting in a chair holding a football, I may shed a tear and get out the super glue. No, my trophy received no reverence, the box was more important. In the imaginations of a 4 and 7 year old, it immediately became a spaceship, an airplane, and a doctors office where polio was being cured I'm sure, with no regards for the peanuts.

A photo pings onto my phone at lunch time.

As if in slow motion, I watch the words, "Noooooooo" come out of my mouth as I say them, adding a few superlatives regarding my friend and then immediately phone my wife.

She leads with, "They are everywhere... your trophy arrived" Disdain, disappointment, and a clear, where do you think you are going to put that ugly trophy is apparent in her voice. I can tell she hasn't yet tried to clean these up, and has no intention to.

I consider having her close the box back up with a child in it and shipping it back to my friend. He's been married less than a few years and they are living in Hollywood with no children, it would only be fair to repay peanutmaggeddon in kind. Child protection laws, the fact I really like his wife, and the cost of shipping a child got the better of me in this decision and I deleted the text.

I finished my day at work, knowing I had more work to do when I got home and would have to wait a bit longer to sit down and have a beer on my deck to round out the night, because of peanuts. There was hope, my wife had said she would work with the kids on it before I got home.

After I walked into our garage and was preparing to enter the house, I heard sobbing and a child meltdown in progress. Peanutmaggeddon, it's like Sharknado, only real and horrible.

My oldest daughter was in tears screaming at peanuts on the floor and whining to her mother, "There are too many!" "I can't" She's not helping me" "They are everywhere" My wife was attempting to remain calm. I knew I would have to step in and resolve, but this was an interesting paradox. There certainly was a lesson in this somewhere, like, invent a non static replacement for peanuts and become a millionaire, but I had to prevent her learning the lesson of, send peanuts to anyone you want to get back at. Plus we needed to solve the peanuts issue.

It took roughly 45 minutes of my life to work through peanutmaggeddon, and I am counting the 5 times during the next week when we sat down on our furniture and a pile of peanuts and peanut particles would come squirting out from beneath the couch, forcing more cleanup.

I'm doubtful the experience will be consciously remembered by my daughters in the years to come, but someday, somewhere, they will have to ship to someone, and they will make the decision to peanut or not to peanut, let's hope they choose wisely.

Their father on the other hand, will remember peanutmaggeddon. There will come a day when they won't jump into a box of peanuts and I'm going to miss the happiness static foam in a box brings.

bvd