This year, we were bound and determined not to ruin the last few weeks of Advent with shopping.
This year, no sobbing in the aisles of Target as some undeserving jerk nabs the western hemisphere's last remaining copy of Godzilla Unleashed for Wii. No tense evenings hunched over the computer as mom and dad show their love for their family by nearly coming to blows over whether or not one can trust the Amazon reviewers of the Li'l Cutie Maggot Farm Starter Kit.
No, this year, we were going to dispense with that foolishness, and keep Advent the way it ought to be: a holy season of quiet anticipation and preparation. We were, for once, going to choose the better part.
We accomplished this by cramming all of the shopping into the first couple of weeks of Advent.
However, we do draw the line somewhere. This year, my husband and I spent a good 40 minutes online hunting down a specific action figure—which, I hasten to add, no one actually asked for—until we realized that maybe, just maybe, this particular gift wasn't the most appropriate way to celebrate the birth of our Savior.
Oh, I have nothing against action figures in general. Actually, I do. The prices they charge for these shoddy little, poorly-painted hunks of plastic just designed to lose limbs and accessories and cause grief and heartache until they disappear entirely! They seems to me like the worst present ever. But the grit of my grousing has been gradually covered over, year by year, by the pearly nacre of inexplicable joy shining on the face of a kid who really, really, really wanted a three-inch representation of Indiana Jones, and who got a three-inch representation of Indiana Jones. I know happiness when I see it. I still don't get it, but I'm willing to admit that, for some kids, an action figure is a Good Present.
As you can see, it's part of a play set for children. Just previous to the tasteful vignette depicted here, Ash has managed to scrape his face off the hot stove, whereon he was hurled by a team of malicious miniature Ash demons. After being impaled with a barbecue fork, Ash retaliates by swallowing one of the mini Ashes and the scalding him with a bellyful of boiling water. But! (and this is where the "play set for kids" part comes in) when he regains consciousness, he discovers that an entire new Ash—Evil Ash—is growing inside him, and, in a truly revolting and explicit scene of anguish, it begins to separate gruesomely from his body as it grows into a full-sized man.
After that, it gets kind of gross.
What's that you say? You can't believe that good Catholic parents would allow their children even to know about such a clearly demonic and horrifying movie, much less let them watch it, much less let them watch it often enough (twice!) that an innocent and malleable 9-year-old soul might actually consider such a gift to be desirable?
Yeah, well. How about I give you the address of those missionaries in Bangalore. Apparently they're running a special this year, and you can get a whole novena said for the salvation of our family's souls—half price!
You know what the worst part is? I lied. We're only halfway done shopping. But still, we didn't buy Evil Ash. And for a couple of primitive screwheads like us, I think that's pretty good.