Saturday, December 04, 2010

Christmas is Getting Lala-loopy

Every year Santa’s elves sit in the boardroom at the North Pole and brainstorm a design for his Ugliest Doll Contest. Winning elves get a joy ride in Santa’s sleigh and half-days on Christmas Eve. Ironically, somehow, every Christmas this very toy becomes the most desired by little girls everywhere. This year, it’s Lalaloopsy, a rag-doll who supposedly came to life after little Suzy left her on the kitchen counter near the Jello shots at her parents' holiday party.

Have you seen this doll? It has big button eyes and zombie arms. Sure, it’s cute, but not when you are passing your daughter’s bedroom in the dark, late at night.

I’m sitting at the kitchen table, surrounded by the store catalogs and coupon flyers that have invaded my weekend newspapers. “Mama, I really want a Lalaloopsy Doll for Christmas,” my daughter “Princess” calls to me from the den, after she sees the toy’s image on a television commercial.

“Well, what if Santa can’t deliver one to you in time for Christmas? It’s written here that his elves have not made enough for all the children in the world,” I lie, pointing to an article in the New York Post.

Princess frowns.

“Yeah, but Santa knows me, Mommy. I met him outside Pathmark and he asked me what I want for Christmas and I told him Lalaloopsy. Santa can do anything. He’s magical,” she says, putting her little hands on her hips, exasperated.

I go online and secretly Google Lalaloopsy. She is out of stock all over the universe. Then I call the nearest Walmart. I’m calling on my cell phone from the coat closet, in the dark. Princess is in the next room eating her breakfast.

“Do you have any Lalaloopsy dolls in stock?” My voice is muffled by the arm of a coat that is in my face, and the Walmart employee cannot hear me clearly.

“Lala WHAT?” she asks.

I push the coat out of the way and repeat myself.

“Hold on while I go search,” she says. I wait, listening to her walk around the store, then type on a computer. Next I hear her laughing.

“It’s the ugliest doll you’ve ever seen, right?” I say into the phone.

“Yes,” she admits, adding, “I’m sorry, but they are all out of stock.”

I hang up.

Oh crap, I think. Now I have to save Christmas. Why does the media do this to me every year? Why don’t they just leave my kid’s brain alone and stop the marketing frenzy?

“But Christmas is not about Santa bringing gifts. It’s really about the gift of baby Jesus to the world. So it doesn’t matter what toys you get, really,” I say, hoping to reason with my five year-old.

“Okay Mama,” she says, happily. “If Santa can’t deliver Lalaloopsy, then I’m sure Jesus will.”

OMG, I think.

(Pictured here: Princess makes her Christmas list.)


Putz said...


Loren Christie said...

Yes! Are there Lalaloopsy dolls in Utah?! Santa might give her a rain check. Mr. Putz!!!!!!!!!! my faithful reader. Thank you for stopping by. My goal is - Saturday mornings- one blog per week.

Loren Christie said...

Update: Daddy saved Christmas and came home with loopsy twins. I didn't ask him what he had to do to get them.

Anonymous said...

i want a lalaloopsy doll sooooooooooooooo bad

Loren Christie said...

Anonymous, I hope you are a little girl, and yet, I have this vision of a middle-aged man typing that comment which is kind of scary.

Dear Internet Traveler,

Welcome to my writer's blog, started about six years ago for fun. Over time, the writing I have posted has ranged from personal reflection, to Long Island history research, to tall tales for my own amusement, to feature articles for local newspapers. As you can see from topics listed here, I travel in many mental directions in regard to interests. Click on the tabs and labels to explore my strange mind which senses that you may be having a criss-cross day. If so, perhaps this blog will distract you. However, please note that if you tell me my blog is beautiful just to get me to advertise rhinoplasty surgery and cheap drugs from Canada in your comment, I will ask the gods to give you a tail that cannot be concealed.


Loren Christie

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