So I went down to add my pathetic wee handful of toys to a monster pile of Christmas goodies this morning. Obviously the rest of the givers had (a) more to spend and (b) different childhoods than mine. There were plenty of gigantic dolls, monster trucks near large enough for a Doberman to drive and (yes!) numerous examples of toys that emulate real things (computers, cell phones, Blackberries, etc.) kids will have to deal with soon enough. I felt a proper fool for choosing the simple, no-batteries-required things I used to like, and still do.
This may be a good reason for women to avoid me. If my recent torpedoed relationship had actually worked out, I probably would have bought her kids Etch-a-Sketches and wind-up sushi that clatter across the table when what they really wanted was high-tech toys that entertain without requiring involvement or imagination.
PARENTHETICAL TOY-GIVING NOTE: One memorable year I brought a truly bizarre talking alarm clock back from Japan as a present for my then-girlfriend's son. He loved it; she -- who was already too familiar with my own talking alarm clock -- threatened him with serious harm should he actually use it. He did anyway. Good kid.
If I had money, I'd just bah-humbug it with everyone else and buy one of these for myself...
It's a 1956 Austin-Healey 100, which may well be my favorite car on the whole planet.
(Actually, I wouldn't necessarily want this particular example, as the owner made some changes while restoring it that aren't authentic. But one very similar would do just fine.)
Never mind. This goes in the same never-never file as my mythical "Christmas with family and friends."
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