the first step is admitting i have a problem
When I think about my childhood, I undoubtedly had a great one: my sister and I lived a comfortable life with our parents, we were afforded great educations, we were loved. And yet, there is one nagging regret, one aspect of my youth about which I'm very bitter:
We never had LEGO.
It really doesn't make a whole lot of sense why we didn't have it: my father has a PhD in engineering, my uncle is a structural engineer. By any logic, you would've thought that my sister and I would've been swimming in LEGO. And yet, our childhood remained LEGO-free: we would wistfully admire the intricate sets our friends had, and return home, LEGOless.
It is for this reason that I have recently become obsessed with LEGO.
We bought a set a few weeks ago for Alex, and when she became frustrated trying to put it together, I immediately pushed her out of the way. "Here, let me help you," I said, my eyes spinning like crazed pinwheels, as I grabbed the plastic blocks. And when, 2 hours later, I finally finished the little beach house, I turned to Marcus, and growled the growl of the undead:
"MORE. I WANT MORE."
Last night, out of fear, Marcus came home with the Winter Toy Shop, which I had decided I had to have as part of our Christmas decorations. And so, armed with rum punch, I conned Helen into helping me put the thing together.
Three hours later, we completed the project.
And I have to admit that if I see another LEGO block before the end of this year, it will be too damned soon.