Who Wants To Be A MINIONaire?

Who wants to be a minionaire?

Not me. But my son did, and now he is one:  a self-made minionaire in fact.

My son has acquired such a massive fortune that he proudly calls himself a minionaire. He has minions of all shapes and sizes: fluffy, plastic, all-singing, all-dancing, light-up, edible, material and virtual.

He sure is a fortunate little fella.

Being in such a position may cause others to feel jealous but I just want to assure you that being a minionaire isn't all it's cracked up to be. It turns out that there are major downsides to possessing such a fortune. It isn't all happiness and sunshine as some might think.

Sadly, I have started to notice some really ugly qualities that come hand in hand with being a minionaire and sometimes I wish we could all just go back to the way things were, back to the times before we ever had such a fortune.

The downsides are as follows:

GREED

As any Minionaire will tell you, one is rarely satisfied with their minion fortune irrespective of how large it is. Minionaires are greedy people. Once they have a taste of minion wealth, they become hungry for more and more and they will not stop until they own every minion in existence.

My son has developed this insatiable desire to have it all. What started out a mild amusement for the little yellow creatures has quickly turned into a profound greed where his entire weekly schedule is based around going to McDonalds to acquire the latest minion from a Happy Meal box.

He insists (with passion) that we attend every week and when we do, he rips open the box, discards the 'food,' then snatches and waves the minion high in the air like he has just bagged the last golden to ticket to Wonka's factory

It is usually a glorious moment. However, if he finds a duplicate of last week's minion, he will throw himself down on the floor right there and then and perform his standard paralytic breakdance until the minion is replaced with the latest model.

BOASTING

A minionaire can't help but brag. They want everyone in the world to see just how many the have: it's an ugly human trait.

My son recently acquired the following minions:

He was very pleased with them, so much so that he just couldn't wait to show off his 'one-eyed minion' at a birthday party last week. Little Megan Duffy sure was distressed but she seemed much brighter after I gave her the Smarties and the plastic whistle from his complimentary party bag.

It seemed that her silence could be bought.

OBSESSION

A minionaire can often display obsessive behaviour. They like to line up their fortune and count it religiously. If the order gets accidentally (purposely) jumbled up by a younger sibling (devil in disguise),  the pits of Hell will open up and black demons will fly around the room screaming with a force that will make the triple glazed windows rattle.

Minionaires are so obsessive that they will insist that each of their minions are individually tucked in bed at night. They will insist that each and every one of their minions attend family events and general outings to Asda, the petrol station or even to a public toilet. 

They will also put the needs of their minions before the needs of their own family. They will insist that the front seat passenger moves their seat forward so that the minions have more leg room in the back of the car.

They will expect a seat for their minions at the dinner table and will expect their younger sibling to have a bath separately as there isn't room for him in the tub after all of the minions have climbed in for a scrub.

REPULSION

I personally have developed strong feelings of repulsion since my son has become a minionaire.

I am sick of those little yellow giggling assholes.

I hate how they have dominated my son's life as well as every inch of space in my house, my handbag and my car. I hate how they've eaten their way through my bank balance and how their little yellow faces have started haunting my dreams.

And now when I look across at my husband at night, I can't help but notice how much he looks like a minion.

 So there goes my sex life too.

What hurts the most is knowing that I am to blame for all of this. I am the one who enabled my son to become a minionaire.

Me. No one else, just me.

Despicable Me.

Mummascribbles
Brilliant blog posts on HonestMum.com
Mums' Days