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Lab
Brats
Making toys brings out the worst in our
girl.
Picture
this. Thirteen grown women come together
to help celebrate insurance guy/photographer
Tom Schiff’s birthday. Expert party
planner Sarah and Tom’s girlfriend
Mary Ellen invite us: a baker’s dozen
of fun-loving Friends of Tom. We pile in
a super-sized limo and head off to the 50
Cent tune "In Da Club," singing
"It’s Your Birthday." Where
to? The Toy Lab!
At
the base of Beechmont levee and a stone’s
throw from the former site of the wonderfully
seedy El Rancho Rankin, we are greeted by
a hot version of the nutty professor: Professor
Yot, a.k.a. Sean Mullaney (and, I hope after
meeting him, my toy boyfriend). Mullaney
and Tommy Rueff of Happen, Inc., a not-for-profit
family arts group, teamed up to put Mullaney’s
gift for toy-making (he’s got 17 patents!)
and workshops into a real space where kids
of all ages can invent their own toys. The
profits help the happenings at Happen, Inc.
So
here we are, in this extremely well-lit,
Nickelodeon-inspired lab, ready to make
some toys. But we take a toy quiz first,
to assess our toy and game knowledge. And
that’s when it happens. Right before
we forage through bins of broken toy parts
for bright plastic, new-toy potential (imagine
the bottom of your kid’s toy box,
but really well-organized—as if Martha
Stewart had to do time at your house), we
quit acting like grown women. Our high school
personalities win out over our supposedly
evolved, polished-up adult personae. Here
is a snapshot:
Me
(in a whisper so as not to get in trouble
with the professor): "You are about
to find out that I am a very competitive
people-pleaser."
Betsy
(blue eyes flashing bluer, signaling there
will be hell to pay): "And you are
about to find out that I win every time."
Leah
(with a high-schoolian flip of the hair):
"I’m finished already. I’m
just here for the extra credit."
Deni
(who sports a name tag that identifies her
as "Trouble." And she is): "Are
we allowed to drink in here? Are we done
yet?"
Professor
Yot (in fake Russian accent): "Please
raise your hands if you vant to answer the
question!"
All
(waving hands, half-trying to look provocative,
half-trying to look earnest. I try to pull
off provocatively earnest): "Pick me,
pick me, pick me!"
Poor
Birthday Boy Tom. And the poor Toy Lab guys.
I am sure at first it seemed like it was
a great idea—a slew of attractive
women piling out of a huge limo into their
lab for a night of fun. But as we packed
up our toys, I could see it in their eyes:
utter relief.
Let’s
face it, ladies. We are a lot of work. And
we aren’t too far from our high school
selves. But once we realize this simple
truth we can get back to more important
matters: like winning the toy competition
and landing the toy boyfriend.
And
Betsy, no matter what anyone says, my toy
beat your toy.
stacy sims
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