All my Christmas shopping is done! Hurrah!! I actually thought I'd finished last week, but then The Daughter decided to write a letter to Santa, and none of the things she'd been rabbiting on about all year - or that I'd bought - were on the list. Eek. She'd asked the bearded fella for a photograph maker (neither The Husband or I were able to figure out what she meant unfortunately. "A camera?" we asked. "No! A photograph maker!" she shrieked, giving us the 'You're both morons' look), some Lego (out of the question, she's only just started playing with the bits she got for her birthday. In March. Plus I resent paying £30 for something so tiny it finds its way up the hoover from the other side of the room), a secret diary thing that looks like it has to scan your retina and verify your fingerprints before you can open it (I obliged with this one, only I bought her a cheaper version with a little key you keep on a bracelet. I mean, seriously, what sort of secrets can a five year old need to keep? 'Monday - stole a mini Twix from the fridge and wiped a bogey on the wall next to my bed'?).
The last item on the list was something called 'Doggie Doo'. Now, for those not down with the kids (there's no need to be ashamed, I had to Google it), this is a game whereby a plastic dog poos, and the players have to collect it - the one who collects the most, wins. This is all the rage amongst her peers by all accounts, kind of like Furbies and Girls World's were when I was growing up. I felt so bad at hardly getting her anything she'd asked Santa for, that I went to town and bought it yesterday. I can't actually believe that I parted with £18 for a game where she has to collect poo to win. If I'd known that was the sort of weird dickens she was into, I'd have wrapped up a cheap scoop, a bag of cat litter and an envelope containing a years pass to clean out our cat trays!
We didn't have anything like that when I was a kid. Although, to be fair, I would have wanted the dog-poo game too. Not that I would have got it though! I asked for 'Mr Frosty' every bloody year for about a decade and never got any closer to it than gazing wistfully at the picture in the Argos book! Yes, that is a hint of bitterness you detect. I was almost tempted to buy it for myself a few years back when I discovered they still sold it. But I bet the long-held dream wouldn't live up to the reality. I wonder if it will be the same for The Daughter when she unwraps her Doggie Doo on Christmas morn. I shall have to refrain from muttering "What a load of crap...literally!".