I’ve wrote about this before, but my sister and I loved Wizard of Oz growing up. I was maybe 6 or 7 when my grandparents and aunts bought me the Wizard of Oz 50th Anniversary collectors set Barbie dolls for my birthday. Now, I may have been young, but I knew that collector’s editions were nothing to mess around with.
I would take Dorothy and her gang CAREFULLY out of their boxes, look at them and put them back. I would NEVER dream of taking them into the bathtub, like I did with Skipper. Dorothy was too good to consort with the likes of Barbie, never riding in the pink convertible. And she wouldn’t be caught dead in the dream house with Ken. No, my Wizard of Oz dolls stayed in their boxes, on a literal pedestal in my bedroom (Ok, it was my dresser. But pedestal sounded better.) They were to be cherished, not to be played with.
And there they stayed, until my 4-year-old sister got her hands on them.
I came home from school to find the destruction. I walked into my room to find that nobody from Oz – or Kansas – was in their rightful box. **The Lion’s red badge of courage was on the floor. Scarecrow’s diploma? Torn in half. I walked further into the room and found Tinman. Poor Tinman. His silver face was now covered in green Crayola marker and he was wearing Glinda’s crown.
And then – then I found Dorothy. Her hair, which used to be two soft braids held together by blue checkered fabric, was now a snarly, knotted mess. Her face had also met the same destruction as Tinman’s – destroyed by my very own green Crayola marker.
And then I proceeded to hold a grudge against my sister for twenty years.
On Christmas Day this year, I opened a large box from Sara. Inside, on top of tissue paper, was a note. “I hope that now you can forgive me for ruining your original ones.”
I started crying.
I knew what was inside.
Apparently, she has been scouring the internet for years, looking for the set. Not that bad of a sister, I guess.
** Some details of this event have been fabricated in my imagination over time. However, Sara DID take all of the dolls out of their box, ruin their hair, color them with green marker and thereby ensured that she would be the recipient of my longest grudge to date.
While I appreciate the pictures that everyone posts, and the creative ideas that they come up with, I’m going to stand firm on my belief that the Elf on the Shelf is creepy. First of all, growing up, I imagined a North Pole full of very short people or, well, midgets. Think Benard from The Santa Clause or all the magical, little guys in the Jaclyn Smith classic, The Night They Saved Christmas. I don’t like the idea that Santa’s elves are these creepy, small, cousins-of-Chuckie like dolls. I especially don’t like that they sneak around your house, watching your every move. What happened to the good-old-days, when Santa just watched you from his magic, Wicked-Witch-of-the-West-esque ball? Because that was a real thing. Right?
What is up with the morals they were pushing in the Claymation holiday movies of the late ‘60s? Or, lack thereof, I should say. Rudolph is 14 seconds old and Donner is already ashamed of him. C’mon now. Give him time to grow, and shame your family by flashing his goods at spring break or being caught with marijuana, like most normal kids. You’re going to give him flack because his nose glows? Guess what, Mr. and Mrs. Donner – that nose didn’t just come out of nowhere. You guys made him. Which one of you messed up?
Also, how come it’s cool for Coach Comet to encourage the other reindeer to laugh at Rudolph? If that happened today, he wouldn’t have time for games because he’d be prancing through lawsuit papers, that’s what. Santa also isn’t very welcoming, only accepting Rudolph’s “individuality” when it’s convenient for him at the end. Santa, I love you and I’m sure you have a lot on your mind. That is why I will forgive you for not IMMEDIATELY thinking “Hmm. It sort of makes sense to have a bright light guiding this sleigh, now doesn’t it?”
What are they teaching children up north? (Is Hermie a child? I’m unclear on the schematics of elf biology. I DO know that he isn’t scary elf-on-the-shelf size. Which is good.) Rudy and Hermie bump into a gypsy-esque gold-digger (who has a questionable beard) and within MINUTES, they’re both on his sleigh, riding off into the sunset (or, a creepy basement). Stranger. Danger!
I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again – A Very Brady Christmas is one of the best Christmas movies of all time and I will fight you on this, so don’t even try.
We’re getting our tree this weekend, which is very exciting for me. Since The Husband and I pretty much jet-setted around the world this year, we have several new ornaments that I’m itching to put on the tree. I bet you wished that you had a recycled-tin-dolphin-wearing-a-Santa-hat-made-by-a-local-in-Roatan, Honduras but you don’t. Probably. If you do, we should start a very exclusive club. With t-shirts.
Well, folks, we are still very early in the season, so I’m sure I will be back with a couple more holiday posts, so don’t you fret my pet (whatup Urkel?!)