Wednesday, November 19, 2008

I know you got yourself a skinny ol' man

Wednesday, November 19, 2008
Santa. What an annoying asshole. I hate all the deceit that he engenders with his demands for letters and attention and visits to his grotty shopping centre grottos. Riker will be ten in February and I have no clue as to where she stands on this massive, annoying lie.

I learned the truth at seventeen, that love was meant for beauty queens, but the Santa truth came to me at seven. I was first down, way before my three year old sister and it seemed right to me that I should have the pick of the potential presents. There wasn't a whole lot of shit in Ellie's stocking that I wanted for my own, but a pretty green frog purse instantly caught my eye. Sometimes I wonder at my alleged sexuality. I moved the purse from her sock to mine. My bustedness thirty minutes later combined with my having caught a glimpse of hastily shut wardrobe doors led me to the inevitable conclusion that this was all a load of shit and that my parents were once again, lying to me.

Ans so to the much older and wiser Riker. She related the story this morning of her friend who had already written to Santa, without the knowledge of her parents, and asked for a mobile phone. Because her parents said she couldn't have one. This was a water-testing tale, I could tell. I remained non-commital, threw out a couple of 'Oh's and gently suggested that Santa was as privy to the wishes and wants of parents as to those of the kiddies.

Riker is getting a bike for Christmas. To go with the new outrageously expensive swimming lessons. Soon I'll have her running around the block too, determined as I am that this be her fate. You should watch that shit. Fatmammycat had it up a while back but the hilarity of the wobbly walk bit never fails to bring howls of laughter to my jaded throat.

So how's the bike thing going to work? Clearly we, her long-suffering parents, are the ones forking out the cash. But the trouble that it will take to pretend to hide this unalterable fact just so that we can make her feel better about making us feel better seems both too pointed and too pointless. And yet, I expect, until she utters the magic, long yearned for words 'Santa's not real, is he?' then that is exactly how it's going to go down.

Good thing I drummed all that Jesus shit out of her early doors.

12 Johns and Janes for the comment whore:

Twenty Major said...

Nearly ten. She be playin' you, fool.

Conan Drumm said...

It's long disturbed me that Santa and Satan are anagrams of each other. Of such pomps are deceits born.

That aside, my parental view always was small pressies from Saint Nicolas, big pressie from Mammy & Daddy.

Radge said...

I learned from the same place I learned about sex, from the streets!

OK, it was in my friend's ma's front room.

Ellie said...

You robber! And to think I blamed Finbar for all my childhood trauma...

Also Riker definitely knows, she's too smart not to.

gimme a minute said...

Twenty Major:
Oh, I know she knows. But she's pretending she doesn't so I have to play along.

Load of shite.

We used to get fuck all from our parents, which seemed both suspicious and stingy.

Too late to change the system hereabouts.

And what age were you when your friend's ma educated you in the ways of love?

I'm not sure I want to know, actually.

Jeez, they gave it back to you. Keep that blame away from me, I'm allergic.

savannah said...

you mean there really isn't a santa claus, sugar????????? *weeping*

gimme a minute said...

Yes, it's true.

And the banks? They don't really have any money.

Radge said...

I was eight. She was 17. Fuckin streets.

Conan Drumm said...

Yeah, Riker sounds like the one of mine who hid a note to Santa asking him to please fix the wonky hinge on the bedroom cupboard door...

Medbh said...

I thought girls today waited until puberty before they started asking for cell phones?

I found out there was no Santa when I caught my older brother having sex with his girlfriend in a room filled with the toys to go under the tree.

red leeroy said...

I think it was the numerous Santa's in places like the ilac that got me suspicious. And I always wondered how he knew if you were good or bad, I mean who did he think he was?

gimme a minute said...

Yeah, turns out I didn't want to know.


I'll be finding 'make daddy get a proper job' notes all around the house.

You have the sweetest childhood memories.

Red Leeroy:
Yeah. When I was six I didn't even know if I was good or bad. My crazy catholic grandmother had me fairly convinced of the latter, and yet still the presents came...

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