Mood: Monday Morning (it's not a mood, but it damn well should be!)
What I'm Listening to: Fireflies by Owl City (see, I don't always watch tv)
Current Word Count: 9,615 (I know, the same as last time...busy weekend Christmas decorating w/ the hubs = no writing time!)
Over the weekend, the hubs and I were decorating our humble abode in preparation for the festivities of the Chrsitmas season. As we decked the halls, strung the lights and just generally made an absolute mess of our apartment, we were enjoying the sounds of streaming Christmas music over the internet. I was happily singing along about Chestnuts Roasting and Sleigh Rides and even Grandma being run over by a reindeer when, as surely as death and taxes, the station played that most heinous of all popular Christmas songs...The Christmas Shoes! What.The.Hell?!?
Typically, I avoid this song like the plague for several reasons:
First, Christmas songs are supposed to be about joy and hope and presents and candy...not about some little boy's mom dying! Sure, nothing says "Merry Christmas" like "hey kid, sorry but your mom? Well, maybe you shouldn't be adding her to the Christmas dinner head count."
Second, it just doesn't make any sense. Hey, I like shoes as much as the next girl but I've made it very clear to my step-daughter that should I ever be in the position of dying on Christmas Eve the doctor I want her to call is NOT Dr. Scholl. I want her to take me to the emergency room, call 911 or take some other, equally appropriate medical measures...none of which, I assure you, involves new shoes.
Finally, where is this kid's father? I get that mom's dying and dad is probably busy out buying her some new perfume or something but really? You're going to let your kid wander around unattended (and filthy to boot) on Christmas Eve while his mom's dying? You couldn't even put him in some clean clothes and wash his face first? Why not just put him in a box on the corner with a tag that says "free to good home"? Sheesh!
Since I opt out of listening to this song (makes me reach for the radio tuner faster than Rush Limbaugh talking about sex), the hubs was probably one of the last people on earth to hear it. As my hand reached out to the radio with lightening fast ninja reflexes that I didn't know I possessed, he stopped me and asked why I never wanted to listen to that song. I told him it just wasn't a good Christmas song...that it was too depressing.
He said he wanted to hear it. Moron. I warned him again but he insisted. Did I mention he's not particularly bright when he's being stubborn?
As the final notes of the song played, I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He was crying. Not just a tear or two but red eyed, silent sobs.
"You're crying" I said (trying not to laugh, because, really? I did warn him)
"What am I? Made out of stone!?!" He yelled "What the hell is wrong with those people!?! What the hell kind of Christmas song is that!?!"
*Sigh* Finally. Some validation. Now we both reach for the radio dial with our mad ninja skills because we'd rather listen to Weird Al singing about Santa beheading Rudolph than the Christmas Shoes one more time!
Also? My mother tells me that there was actually a tidy bowl man commercial when I was little. I had no idea. So, in the interest of further public humiliation, here's a youtube video of the Ty-D-Bol man. Truly terrifying!