When I was a kid, I would dream up completely insane presents to put on my Christmas wish list — shit that no parent could ever possibly afford and no child could ever possibly deserve. And every year, my parents would tell me before Christmas that I would NOT be getting the little race car I saw on the Obstacle Course round of Double Dare. They would sit me down and explain that Santa wasn’t a Formula One mechanic and that I shouldn’t be a fucking idiot.
The problem is that, on occasion, my parents DID get me something I wanted. But in order to keep it a surprise, they would play hard-to-get and tell me that I had no chance of getting Voltron, or whatever other stupid thing it was that I wanted.
I heard enough fake NOs from my mom over the years that I began to recognize the pattern and immediately assumed that NO meant YES. “Oh, mom says I have no chance of getting that hoverboard? IT’S MINE.” And then Christmas would come and I’d get a bag of fudge and hate the world.
Now I’m the parent and it’s my turn to engage in the futile task of managing my child’s expectations. This is the actual wish list that my daughter, who is 7, handed me a few weeks ago. It’s completely unreasonable and I have no way of explaining this to her without being a dick, or without her thinking I’m pulling some reverse-psychology shit on her. Let’s take a look at this Christmas wish list, item by item.
“New American Girl Doll of the Year 2014.” The heartless corporate executives at American Girl roll out a new “doll of the year” doll every year, complete with its own book and shitty DVD movie (the last one starred Nia Vardalos and Ian Ziering) and a meticulously crafted backstory that reads like an account planner’s wet dream (“She’s a spirited girl who draws on her passions to inspire action!”).
And the kicker is that these dolls are always sold for a limited time (the 2013 doll of the year, Saige, is also on my kid’s wish list and costs $110 if you can find her), so that mothers around the world step on each other’s gullets just to secure one for their brainwashed offspring.
Anyway, American Girl has not named its stupid doll of the year for NEXT year yet, but my kid wants it anyway. I assume the doll’s name will be Kayden. Here is my kid asking for a present from the future, and that represents one of the more reasonable items. I love you, but you cannot have this, sweetheart.
“A bead kit like [my friend’s].” You got it. Done. In the basement as we speak, kiddo. But now we go a little off the rails …
“A little thing that can turn into anything at anytime.” The fuck is this? What am I, Galactus? Do you understand the catastrophic universal implications of possessing a shape-shifting, time-traveling device? Even Rob Gronkowski knows that isn’t to be toyed with.
You could turn it into a separate moon any time you like and then the Earth would be fucking DESTROYED by the additional gravitation. You cannot be trusted with this at age 7. If such a thing existed and were affordable, I wouldn’t have children. I would have a SPACE BROTHEL. There’s a reason that we have the laws of physics in place. And you expect this thing to be portable as well? You cannot have this.