Christmas Stories

Rebellion of toys

Hard life for Toys, Photo by Artem Maltsev on Unsplash

Dear Santa Claus,

We’ve been writing to each other for a few years now, or at least I’ve been writing to you… In fact, you could make an effort and answer me one day!

Far be it from me to reproach you once again for a badly wrapped gift, a manufacturing defect or a misinterpreted list. Since I have decided to stop being wise, so as not to be disappointed anymore.
And let me tell you, it works pretty well.

There is another reason why I am writing to you today.

You’ll understand my surprise when, as I was sharing a Christmas meal with my family, as healthy and balanced as ever (this year, the five fruits and vegetables were part of the meal, especially the grapes…), I heard someone knocking on my door.

Intrigued and still lulled by the memory of your beautiful elf, I rushed to the door.
Unfortunately it wasn’t a handsome, bundled up man who showed up, but a horde of toys and mad things.

A doll at the head of the procession, her hair standing on end, held out her hand covered in felt. I took a step back. Films like Chucky had rocked my childhood, so I was not reassured.

Faced with my amazement, she then spoke up.
“Hello Mylène,
You, the rebel, the dissatisfied Christmas girl, who doesn’t hesitate to tell Santa Claus the truth, we need you.

As you know, I’m sensitive to compliments, so I let them in.

So here’s the problem Santa: thousands of toys, scarves and Christmas trinkets have decided to leave their packages and flee from the feet of the tree. Worse, your old packages have also decided to join the slingshot and leave the blonde heads who treat them so passionately.

I can imagine you grumbling in your beard. If after the elves and the reindeer, the toys are getting in on the act, maybe you really should retire…

But here are some testimonials, Santa, that will help you understand the situation a little better.

Dolls can’t stand being carried around by their hair all day long and used as guinea pigs by future psychopaths.
The little cars get depressed from being thrown more often than rolled.
Felt pens are dying without their caps.
Colored pencils complain about the pain caused by the raging teeth strokes of those supposedly well-behaved children.
Itchy sweaters languish in the back of their closet.
The rum bottles know they won’t see 2023.

And I pass you all the legos lost under the furniture, the soft toys covered with drool, the perfumes sold on the internet, or the books forgotten in a library with all those of the previous years.

So Santa, we, well mostly them, have a request, well three rather:

  • take a step back from the lists, frankly you think it’s smart to give a pair of scissors with a beautiful doll with immaculate hair. Can’t you see the accident coming? I don’t know, pick one or two gifts, how about that? No ?
  • Honestly, judging by what they all told me, are they really wise children that you over-indulge? No, but I’d like to see your list of not-so-wise children, are you sure you didn’t put it in reverse?
  • The toys want to be more robust. Sorry Santa, but the quality of some of them really leaves something to be desired… one wash and bim the sweater is put back in the craft room. Can you imagine his pain? Wouldn’t you like to give priority to quality over quantity?

Santa, I’m counting on you to make it all better next year. If not, maybe you could retire.

Just so you know, I had a hard time getting all these people out the door. The crayons started a mural in the living room, the rum befriended my dad, the toy cars raced around the dining room table and the stuffed animals wallowed on the couch. With a lot of talking and a few screams, they all ended up walking backwards to their respective homes.

For the doll, it was a bit more complicated. Lying in my bed, she was already calling me mom, looking at me with a twisted eye. I think I convinced her to leave, I closed the shutters, but I confess that I am afraid to open them tomorrow and see her planted in the middle of the garden…
Sending a leprechaun would not be too much to help me. The tall brown guy from four years ago would be perfect.

On that note, I leave you to ponder this letter full of kindness and common sense.
You’ll notice that I’m getting better at taking care of my fellow man, so don’t hesitate to send me a surprise or two when you have the time.

Sincerely, good rest.
See you next year.

Mylène, your favorite slinger

Merry Christmas to all!
(An aunt inspired by her torturous niece 😅)