No big deal. I know what’s in those paper bags I grab at the drive through are not the best choices of food for me or my kids. I moderate it. Happy meals are not staples – they are treats. Doctor visits that result in shots, particularly great chore doing, wonderful school performance – these are all wonderful times to delight my kids with some golden arches.
When I take my kids to McDonald’s, I completely expect an unhealthy meal – I don’t care what kind of alternatives they offer. It’s not health food.
What I don’t expect are half dressed grown woman dolls to be the toy. Think I am exaggerating? Judge for yourself.
If you think I would let my kids out of the house looking like that, or with people that looked like that – think again and make a doctor’s appointment because you are obviously ill.
And please don’t tell me about having to let my children grow up and become their own person. These are Happy Meals. The target audience is birth through elementary school. And allowing my children to become their own person does not include condoning trashy clothes.
And lest you think I am overreacting – I am not alone.
Marcie Press thinks like me
Misogynist Happy Meals – does a great job of taking McD’s to task over the “global mom network.”
I am trying really hard to be rational. But, I am raising 4 daughters in a society that has gone from being angry when women are objectified to one that has women objectifying themselves. I mean, really, is this what we want for our children – boys or girls?
We become aghast at Brittney, Lindsay, Paris, and Nicole. We wag our finger, shake our heads, and wonder how they could be so reckless. We hear of the young teenage girls with babies, diseases, eating disorders and wonder where her parents are. Girls gone wild, underage activity, birth control in middle school and we wonder what’s wrong with other people’s children.
We just don’t understand how it had come to all this. Meanwhile, isn’t it so cute that our little angel knows all the words to Fergalicious, has “Cheer” written across her bottom, rolls her eyes at the grocery store clerk, and knows we are going to buy her all the Bratz dolls we forgot about last Christmas.