Some months ago, we cancelled our cable subscription because we were concerned about the toll so much television might have on our childâ€™s developing mind, and spent many sleepless nights fretting about the newest study that says television will turn your child into a serial killer.
Just kidding. We did it because weâ€™re cheapity cheapskates. Iâ€™m 500% convinced that â€śWord Worldâ€ť taught my kid to read and I still totally let her binge watch My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic, because that means I get to binge watch My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic.
Now we just do it on Netflix, which is basically awesomesauce because a) Bollywood, b) we save about 100 bucks a month, and c) our cable company was threatening to take out a restraining order if I called them one more time about the horrible quality of our cable anyway. Fun aside: did you know that most cable companies will allow you two swear words before they hang up on you? Now you do. Choose your f-bombs wisely.
For months, Iâ€™ve been enamored of our new situation, comfortable in the knowledge that our only gripe from here on out in regards to Netflix would be where the hell is season two of American Horror Story? And then I asked my kid what she wanted for Christmas this year, and she shrugged.
What. The. What.
The thing about cancelling cable is that you also cancel commercials which is awesome/awful. I must admit that I was getting really tired of the near constant requests for cheaply made animals that look like theyâ€™re stoned and have â€śbuddyâ€ť, â€śpetâ€ť, or â€śpalâ€ť in their moniker. Ditto on things like â€śOrbeezâ€ť, which are totally guaranteed to not explode all over your carpet and stain it in jewel tones and â€śSquishy Baffâ€ť, which commits the grievous sin of atrocious spelling and requiring a $500.00+ visit from a plumber who will probably make condescending remarks to you regarding your decision to purchase something called Squishy Baff.
Because I totally own the fact that I let my child watch lots of TV, I will also own the fact that she had almost every ditty for every piece of plasticrap that every toymaker was shilling memorized. So much so, that in Christmases past, when my husband and I could no longer procrastinate in regards to buying her presents, we would eventually just go to Walgreens and pick up something that we had heard her mindlessly singing about the day prior.
But now? Nothing.