Keeping a Tamagotchi alive is not child’s play

I often joke about how my childless friends can rub their flat stomachs, or how I can get day drunk on Sundays or go to trashy concerts till 2am.

Sometimes these friends and I brag on social media about our lives; where we get to stay out late, go to art shows and have almost no responsibilities.

Being childless is endlessly positive. Even more so now that laws restrict at-wits-end parents from spanking their kids.

Sometimes I think a good hiding is one of the only reasons many of my peers became parents. I find it barbaric.

They so willfully show off their dominance over the young ones, causing so much harm that a whole generation will again skip basic morality in their families thanks to the cause and effect of this kind of systematic abuse.

I have a much healthier approach. I think. I regularly kill my Tamagotchi.

Yes, in 2019 the digital pets made a comeback, and I got one.

I have a Tamagotchi for nostalgic reasons – I had quite a few in the 90s. I even had one a few years ago when Wimpy ran a promotion with their kids meal and you could get a knock-off pet that looked like a mutated sperm in its adult phase.

But in 2019, with a lot of maturity, I thought I was ready to raise a Tamagotchi for real.

Beep, beep

Pulling that little tab out of a Tamagotchi casing to start your new parental duties is on par with removing the screen protector from your brand new cellphone.

This time I was elated to see a little egg. Then the beeps started. First you need to feed the little bundle of joy, give it medicine and bathe it. Simple.

Except the irritating beeps are constant and the archaic three button navigation system seems so outdated that I think a Gen X’er wouldn’t even know how to use it.

A pretty, skinny kid

I don’t want to parent shame other parents, but I think my Tamagotchi will be a skinny, lanky person of beauty. I know this because mine has really active bowels and clearly very good metabolism. Skinny people have that.

Having a pretty, skinny child is a dream. You can coerce the child into pageants and competitions and use the prize money to raise them, and therefore use some of your own money on yourself.

At least my Tamagotchi is digital so I still get to spend all my money on myself, while raising a little supermodel that poops and exercises a lot.

Oh yes, after about 24 hours your Tamagotchi also beeps for exercise and games. I entertain it for now.

The smacks of nostalgia still provide just enough serotonin to keep it alive.

Bleep, bleep

A few days after starting to raise your digital pet, the beeps become constant and more annoying. Each beep is now accompanied by a word that gets bleeped as the little piece of plastic tries to rule my life.

And since the technology is outdated, there’s no mute button. There’s just constant beeps and bleeps as you start to hate your life and have visions of dunking your pretty, skinny child in water.

Hey I’m getting good at this … or not

A few days in and there’s more of a system. You technically potty train your pet and the poops are regulated. You don’t need to discipline it as often. So you let your guard down. Big mistake.

In a mere five hours of not checking up on my little darling it had passed on. I was upset. I was distraught. Until I realised I had my life back.

I kill Tamagotchis, but thank goodness I don’t slap kids. And I can reset my little monster whenever I want if the need to be a parent returns.

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