I hate Garibaldis. Just looking at this picture turns my stomach. The gritty, slimey, smashed down currents in a crumbly, stale cracker substance masquerading as a biscuit. I worked in a small grocery come convenience shop for 9 years throughout my teens and uni years, and filling the biscuit section shelves with these liars always felt uncomfortable, they belong with the crackers or snack bars, or better in the food waste.
I’ve been completely prepared to hate Despicable Me, almost wanting to hate it. I watched it today with my boys, and I laughed, they laughed, alot. Before I was leant the film, my friend asked me, “Are you sure you’re happy for the boys to watch it, there’s alot of missiles and blowing up?” I checked it was rated U and braved it. I am perhaps overly cautious about what I let my two watch. I am convinced they are far too rough and violent already from being exposed to me, I don’t need it being reinforced. Everyday I have to curb and control my desires to drop kick the buggers when they’re doing all the things I hate. I know I have an unhealthy ability to go from calm to hell’s dragon in 5 seconds, but I don’t want them to know that, and keeping it under wraps is hard. So now I’m considering picking up Gru’s slack, he turned out to be soft, I can become the world’s most notorious villain, just don’t tell my boys. I don’t know why I’m so worried about them becoming hard, rough men. I want to produce gentle souls, yet again, no pressure. I guess it is because it’s what I feel safe with, Jon is a gentle soul and for that I’m grateful. But I fear if I continue to have urges like I did today when Eddie told me I could eat his donut, then had a toddler break down because I’d eaten his donut, and all I wanted to do was spit out the small soggy donut and offer for him to have it back, I fear my angry gene may slip through, even if I did just swallow the donut and comfort my child.
I was unduly sceptical about the film’s moral, a strange and angry man falls in love with 3 small girls and becomes sweet and kind, but its sentiment and heart seemed genuine. Although if our experience of having children is true to the masses, nobody can make you feel as angry and rage-filled as your own child, and I’ve hated a lot of people, even Jon gets rattled. So although I adore my children, like the Garibaldis, something about them, on occasion, just makes me fill with hate and turn into the most horrible of mes, infact despicable me (sorry, couldn’t resist).