Every so often, I am reminded that I am different than most people. Certainly not better different - just different. That reminder came last night at Jeff's office Christmas party.
I tried to time our arrival just right, but that didn't work out. We wound up sitting right across from his boss and mrs. boss. And of course, the topic of their children came up, specifically, what the little three-year-old is getting from Santa this year - a My Twinn Doll. Now, first of all, I find dolls in general a tad creepy. Those vacant, lifeless eyes, set in a realistic body. But the concept of a doll crafted to look EXACTLY like your child seems to be ripped from the pages of some Stephen King novel. If, as the ad copy on the web site claims, "Every child is an original," then just how does it follow that a doll that looks exactly like her is a"beautiful reflection of just how special your child is"??? Doesn't that send the message that the child is NOT original - that, in fact, she can be easily be replaced with a plastic replica? I bet these kids who get these dolls are going to wind up in therapy in the next 7-10 years. Oh, and don't worry - they make boy My Twinn dolls, too. (Another disturbing thing about these dolls - "The My Twinn doll has 18 points of poseability for versatile, lifelike movement. The unique poseability of a My Twinn doll adds a distinctive dimension of playability.") But the thing is, everyone at the table thought this was just such an "adorable" idea. Everyone except Jeff and me, the 'child-free' freaks that we are.
Of course, the conversation stayed focused on children, though, thankfully, the little tykes were left with a sitter. It seems that the little girl who's getting the doll that looks just like her is still using a pacifier - at age three. The hilarious thing is that she reasons with her parents about this thing like it's a heroin habit. "This year, Daddy, I promise I'll give them up. Really." And then she says, when asked what's so great about them, "It's just my thing." But Mommy can't bear to take the pacifiers away, because her dentist told her that HIS kid at age four, regressed and started wetting the bed when they took his pacifier away. Meanwhile, another child was sucking away at a pacifier at the age of eight, though at least she became a closet sucker, hiding the habit from the eyes of others.
And my reaction is, "Why do you put up with this?" and also, "Thank gawd I don't have kids!" I just couldn't deal with that. I couldn't deal with some little child screaming, "Mommy, I'm having nightmares, gimme my pacifier and let me sleep with you!!!" I'm just not emotionally equipped to deal with that sort of thing. And, thankfully, in this day and age, I don't have to be.
The other thing which I found very strage was what passed for funny with these people. Apparently someone told the joke, the punchline of which is, "Can I push in your stool?", and they all thought that was the funniest thing ever. And this was before the beer and wine started flowing. I mean, come on, who didn't hear that one in tenth grade? Next they'll be saying that Carrot Top is a comic genius!
The evening always culminates in the office workers bestoying gifts upon Jeff, his boss, and the guy who owns the company (who happens to look like a grey-haired Mr. Rogers). After a few years I've noticed a pattern in what Jeff receives; so I leaned over and whispered, as he started to unwrap the gift, "I bet it's a Dilbert desk calendar," I should have made him take the bet, because I was right. Come on, people, while Dilbert is hilarious, can't you bother to get to know the guy who keeps your computer running a little better than that? The same thing every year? ACK!
Well, the good news is, the stuffed salmon was delicious.
