Beados

Whoever invented Beados should be charged with crimes against humanity.

You might be blissfully unaware of these tiny balls of frustration.

The TV ad shows girls happily spraying multi-coloured beads onto a template to create gaudy Princess designs to decorate one’s bedroom.

If one is Paris Hilton, that is.

You might know them by the old name – Bindeez.

Fortunately, they’ve changed the chemicals composition since several kids were taken to hospital suffering GHB poisoning.

Memo China: Not a good idea to put party drugs in children’s toys.

Unfortunately, they haven’t changed the aim of the game, which is to drive mums completely bonkers.

To some degree, I’m blaming the toy for my lack of hand-eye co-ordination which led to the nickname “Gumby” for most of my teenage years.

So for two hours this week, in a lame attempt at mother-daughter bonding, I hunched over three-year-old Grace to painstakingly create Ariel, the Mermaid.

At least I think it was Ariel. I was high on the non-toxic fumes.

To discourage kids from swallowing the beads, the creators have coated them with a vile substance that induces dry retching.

Wish I’d read that in the fine print before licking the tips of my fingers to pick up the little suckers.

Why can’t someone invent girls’ toys that adults can enjoy?

Boys’ toys are infinitely more educational – and fun.

We’ve spent hours playing with Taj’s new slot car set and his myriad Transformers.

Sure, they’re frustrating.

But it was immensely satisfying at the ripe old age of 42 to transform the Optimus Prime robot into a road train.

I was so excited I called one of my mates to brag.

“They’re for five-year-olds,” he said drily.

Sometimes the smallest victories are the sweetest.

This particular Transformer had beaten the best of us – a pilot, an engineer and a computer programmer.

They’re supposed to be good at mechanical things; I can’t even get work the Foxtel properly.

I’d even emailed Hasbro in the US pleading for more instructions, convinced that pieces must be missing.

Eventually it was a combined effort: every time I got stuck, Taj grabbed the giant Autobot and worked out the next step by himself.

Kids are good at this stuff because their brains aren’t full of bills to pay, birthdays to remember, phone calls to make and jobs to do.

So, I have a message for the toy manufacturers of the world: girls don’t just want dollies.

There’s a huge hole in the market for pink versions of cool boys’ toys.

(This is also true for women of a certain age. I’m mad about hubby’s vintage stakeboard.)

You should have seen the look on the young dude’s face when I asked whether he sold pink Princess skateboards.

“But we don’t make skateboards for three-year-old girls,” he whined.

Well, it’s about time you did.

Then we can bin the Beados, Barbies and Bratz that are turning our clever little girls into precious Paris Hiltons.