The Big 5

This weekend we attended my niece's 5th Birthday party. It was a small, urban affair where my brood made up over half the guest list. Present was a gigantic number 5, otherwise known as the World's Biggest Freakin' Pinata. I thought initially that they stole it from the set of Sesame Street, but no. Artists they are, they MADE it. Yes, there are those who buy pinatas at Party City and then there are my brother-in-law and sister. They are both creative and highly resourceful. If dropped in the wilderness with nothing but a bottle cap, a rubber band, and a stick of gum, these two could not only survive for years, but survive in happy luxury and build a thriving metropolis. Meanwhile, they'd be gnawing on my dead carcass because my suburban ass would have perished on day 3.

Back to the party, and giganta-five.

So this pinata is like literally the size of a 3 year old and almost the weight of one too. It is hoisted up on a sophisticated pully system made entirely with jump ropes, a la my brother-in-law, McGyver.

Steel construction I suspect, as I was lucky to bang my head on it as it dangled from the ceiling. I did this not once, but twice (yeah, the learning curve is slow with me). There was only one other dufus who rammed his head into the giant prime numeral hanging from the sky, and I'm married to him. You can see why we make the perfect couple...

When it's time, the kids line up to take a crack at this monstrosity. We forgo the blindfolds - no further handicapping is needed. Let me just tell you, not a dent could be made. They're whacking away at this colossal 5 and he ain't givin' up the goods. The adults start to try to punch and rip at it in an attempt to create some "weak spots." Not budging. Perhaps our strength was diminished secondary to the fits of hysterical laughter.


My 8 year old niece breaks into a series of karate chops and kicks; to no avail. Then, determined to take it down, she runs and jumps on it. She dangles, all 60-some pounds of her, while Sumo-5 holds her suspended above the floor. Not a rip, burst steam, or even a jiggle. In fact, I think I heard it laugh at her, mockingly.


















I was starting to see bigger plans for this Mighty 5... perhaps I could move my life's savings and important documents into it as I'm sure it is both fire and bullet proof. I was also envisioning a cute back yard swing...

Too late. We've moved on to Plan B : Let the kids stomp on it. Crack it open a bit.

As The Great 5 is getting trampled to death by the little Mary Janes of a sugar-crazed mob, I start feeling a bit sorry for it. My mind starts drifting to Victor Hugo's Quasimodo and Lenny from Of Mice and Men. Yet, unlike these tragically heroic characters who met their fates at the hands of love, these kids (mine included) are out for blood-candy.

Post massacre, 5 silently swings in the breeze, disemboweled. Hollow. A gruesome spectacle. My mind conjures poetic images of Flannery O'Conner's The Lottery for some odd reason. I turn away and sniff back a tear. Poor 5. I'm totally PMSing. My daughter offers me a roll of Smarties. My mind is off of 5 now and onto how I can score some more of this crystallized crack.

Upon autopsy, we find out McGyver made this contraption out of heavy corrugated cardboard, wood glue and possibly some fiberglass hypoxy something-or-other. I believe nail guns must have been involved as well.












Well, it's never a good party until someone dances around with a lampshade on their head....







































That's my girl!!!