Mourning Lisa Frank and the Death of my Childhood
So, it’s that weird part of August that I don’t like, where it’s still basically summer but you’re starting to think about fall — which is cool because fall is great — but it’s also like no, wait! hold on to summer! Sunshine and heat and bikinis and water and drinks outside. Conflicting [Side note: I felt that “confliction” was the only appropriate word here. But spellcheck informs me that it is not a word. I swear it is. No? Well, it should be. Executive decision: confliction is now a word].
Anyway, the way to get through this tough time used to be school supply shopping, but I don’t have that anymore. The kids are all getting ready to head back to school (also: why the hell does school start in August now? This goes against nature. School starts in September, everyone knows this. How will calendar companies decorate that page now?). In my aimless, hours-long, what-unnecessary-but-entertaining-random-shit-can-I-purchase-today wanderings around Target I have seen all the displays. And it fills me with excitement, followed by crushing disappointment. Because every time I idly think about how I should start packing soon and getting school supplies, it very suddenly occurs to me: never again.
Never again will I get color-coded college-ruled spiral notebooks, with the ugliest color reserved for math, the worst of subjects.
Gone are the days of agonizing over the choice between puffy plastic binders, in signature Lisa Frank neon-rainbow-vomit palette, with the golden puppies Casey and Candy (who is clearly a future doggie stripper), or the pink and blue gender-normative dolphins entwined in the shape of a heart.
No more buying my favorite pens of the moment, destined to be lost or loaned out or “borrowed” within two days of opening the package.
Buying school supplies was the tits. Kids don’t even have Lisa Frank these days — they just have that little shit Justin Bieber or whoever on all their notebooks. They can’t even understand. I considered consoling myself by approaching children in the street or at the store and offering to take them shopping. But my lawyers have insisted that I not.
And you know what the worst part is? Every single time I mention this, usually to my friends, they nod wistfully and agree — and then someone just has to say, “until we have kids”.
Every damn time.