Play Don't

Dear God, I hate Play Dough.

Oh, I'm sorry, I meant Play-Doh. See, the way it's spelled is even annoying.

It doesn't matter how thorough I think I am cleaning it up. I can dab at the table, floor and play mat with rages, and sweep the floor thoroughly with a broom and vacuum. I will still find small, crumbly, petrified pieces of it everywhere. And those pieces are always the strange grayish

purple of used gum. It's the color all Play-Doh eventually turns after it has been smushed in with the other colors, which is unavoidable unless you're only interested in building monochromatic sculptures.

That's right, any time you try to put two colors of Play-Doh together, no matter how softly you do it, they will cling together as if holding on for dear life, until you finally just decide to combine them, hoping to get a cool color, but just getting some shade of that gray. It's like the color wheel is thrown out the window when it comes to Play-Doh. Blue and yellow? Gray. Red

and blue? Gray. Red and yellow? Orange, but only because the orange of Play-Doh is almost as bad as the gray.

Play-Doh doesn't just attract other Play-Doh either. It also attracts dog hair, dust, food, lint, and anything else that can give it a texture that can only be described as "crunch

y." You could be playing with it in a clean room, in a sterile suit (I know, that doesn't sound like much fun, but I'm trying to make a point) and SOMETHING would end up in the Play-Doh.

Oh, and things don't just stick it Play-Doh, it sticks to things, especially people. Touch it for a moment and it will coat your hands with a salty film. Play with it for longer than that and you will need a shower. The stuff that comes off in the shower? It will immediately become that gray gum dust I talked about earlier. Guaranteed.

You know the worst thing about Play-Doh, though? Kids love it, especially mine.

Damn.

I guess I am just going to have to put up with it.

After all, I think I even loved it as a kid. Actually, I know I did.

I loved molding it, and squishing it, and at times eating it. After all, there's nothing like that chemically salt taste to cap off an afternoon snack. I had a bunch of the little play sets that allowed me to feel like a sculptor when all I had really done was push clay through a sieve. It was the best sense of accomplishment a non-artistic child could feel.

I wonder if my Mom felt the same way about it I do now.

Maybe I should check the corners of her house for the remaining Play-Doh dust to make sure she isn't carrying a grudge.