At four years old, Kit is literate enough to write a Christmas List. This year, he asked for a water pistol, a skateboard and a beetle collection like the one he saw at the museum (to him it looked like a box of chocolates does to a human child). I took him shopping to choose his present.
There is a precedent in my family for not believing in Santa. I come from a long line of cynics; even at the age of three, the concept seemed highly unlikely to me. (Such was the strength of my cynicism that there were quite a few other things I didn’t believe in at three that turned out to be true. Like zebras. I was convinced that somebody had painted horses for a joke).
Also, if I have to work hard to provide for Kit, I don’t mind him knowing where his presents came from. Otherwise, he might be lead to believe that children with richer parents and better presents are better behaved, and favoured by Santa (when in reality, they are probably insufferable, spoiled little tyrants, like him). The downside of this is that I can’t blame it on Santa if I get it wrong. If Kit’s Olympic medal quality whinging is to be discouraged, it is best to allow him to choose his present. This way he can ensure it is the correct brand, size, colour, fragrance, texture and degree of fashionableness for this particular nanosecond in time.
I was wondering how I was ever going to find a water pistol small enough for him to handle when fate smiled upon us. I saw Kinder Surprise Eggs in the supermarket. After munching through only 15 of them, all for Kit’s sake, I finally encountered one containing a water pistol of appropriate size. I hope he appreciates the sacrifice of my waistline (but I accept that that is about as likely as zebras all being painted horses!)
Two days after my determined effort with the Kinder Surprises, I attended my work Christmas party. When I opened my Christmas cracker, I discovered, nestled inside, none other than a tiny water pistol. Kit’s Dad spent the next few minutes laughing at me uncontrollably. I know he was laughing uncontrollably because I asked him to stop, and he couldn’t.
Apparently, this was a story too good not to share. As soon as he had composed himself, Kit’s Dad shared the story with the table, and I soon had 10 or 15 people laughing at me uncontrollably. Several of them actually snorted beer out of their nostrils. So, although it was somewhat embarrassing, it did help me to achieve my life goal of inducing people to snort their preferred beverages out of their noses. Next time, hopefully it will be on purpose.