We’ve been borrowing a friends pushchair for a fair few weeks. This is mainly because our pushchair is rubbish. It’s cheap, unreliable, and more importantly, doesn’t look cool at all.
The one we’re borrowing is quite a luxury item – well padded, big whells for off roading, and again, more importantly, it looks very cool. But we knew it was only a temporary measure, and we needed our own mobile baby trolley for our son, mainly because he’s getting too heavy to transport via arm power.
We’ve managed to get hold of a Bugaboo Frog stroller – to those not in the know, it’s like other baby strollers, just made by a company with a ridiculous name. The stroller itself is a nice deep red/purple colour, and has a multitude of features that parents love – the ability to move the handle instead of turning the seat around being one.
The main selling point is the ease you can fold it down or put it up for use – you simply press a button and swing it down, as my wife confidently began to tell me.
She pressed the button.
She confidently swung it down.
The dull thud of the stroller hitting the floor, unopened, echoed through the dining room.
Unimpressed, Claire continued to attempt to redeploy the stroller with mixed success, and by mixed I mean, of course, no success. She eventually managed to, by simply pressing a button, lifting the stroller above the ground with both hands, then by using one bare foot, spending five minutes hooking the wheels underneath the stroller so it was in position – which is fine to do when you’re in the dining room, but not for example, in public.
The rage began slowly, building up to an exclamation of four letter words, her rage wasn’t helped by her husband doubled over in laughter watching the whole scene unfold, and it didn’t help her son had rolled up to her in his walker, wondering what all the commotion was about, all the while gently ramming the unopened stroller.
The rage doubled when I calmly walked over to it, pressed a button, swung it down, and deployed the stroller with no trouble.
I asked her what the stroller was called. She told me, then frowned.
“You’re going to write about this, aren’t you?”
I smiled at her.