It’s a Chinese conspiracy of the highest order. I can imagine a bunch of people sitting around a table in Beijing thinking up ridiculous Christmas gifts to peddle to Americans. “How about we take these plastic animals and put a mechanism in the back so they can defecate little balls of candy? Maybe we can fit a sound chip in so it will play a Christmas carol while it’s crapping?”
“Wow! That’s a great idea, Boss. I’ll get the team to work on it right away.”
And sure enough, I find myself Christmas shopping in some store crammed to the rafters with junk.
“Aren’t these cute?” the wife asks, holding up two small plastic animals. “They poop candy,” she giggles.
“Silly, absolutely ridiculous,” I answer.
“C’mon where’s your Christmas spirit?”
“What does pooping candy have to do with Christmas spirit?”
“The kids will love them.” Then she trots out the ultimate put-down: “You’re just no fun, a matter of fact, you’re a real pain to go Christmas shopping with.”
See, the problem is, stuff like little plastic animals that crap candy don’t interest me. Not only are they a waste of money, but they are the kinds of things you find molding in a closet eight months later and quickly pitch as you think to yourself, “I knew we’d end up tossing these out.”
So to get through the holidays, you have to put up with all kinds of stupid trinkets made in China flooding into the house. Plus the endless catalogs she waves in your face saying, “Don’t you think Tina would love these glittery butterflies?”
That’s the way it is for us Martians. Me, I speed shop over the holidays. Hit three or four stores, grabbing this or that like someone’s timing me, pay for them in a flash, and get the hell out.
The rest I do on Amazon. I have a list I throw together, order the items and hit “Place Your Order.”
But the agonizing tromp through stores I avoid like the plague. Of course, I usually get kidnapped into one or two shopping sprees.
One thing I do not understand is why women have to pick up every single thing in the store, fondle it for a couple seconds, then jab it in front of your face and exclaim, “Isn’t this just the cutest?”
Fighting a sneer, you answer, “I don’t see why in the world you would want to buy that?”
“Oh, c’mon, it’s a great stocking stuffer.”
Stocking stuffer—that’s the greatest contribution the Chinese have made to the world since the Great Wall. They invented it so it would worm its way into every Venusian’s brain, giving them a free pass to buy ridiculous items.
For instance, the motion activated Singing Christmas Ornament. She tosses that into the cart saying, “Isn’t this great, it sings Jingle Bells every time someone walks by. Susan will just love putting it on her tree.”
I wince when I pick up the ornament, see it’s made in China, and read the price, “$7.99.” Egads! China wins again.
But she doesn’t stop there, next it’s the Egg-A-Matic, the boiled egg mold that turns your egg into a round little chicken. “Isn’t it just the cutest?” she exults.
Just when I think it’s safe to go back in the water, just when she heads toward the checkout, she announces, “Let’s just hop over to Marshalls. They have great stocking stuffers there.”
Instead of Christmas, I’m convinced the holiday should be called Chinmas.