When last we checked on Miss Mouthy ...er... I mean Alexis, she was non-stop jabbering about pretty much everything except for what she wanted for Christmas.
I tried asking her. She told me that was between her and Santa.
I tried to help her make a list. When she couldn't spell the words, I offered to help, thinking that would be my way in. She refused to tell me what the words were because, again, that was between her and Santa. Instead, she drew him a picture. Unless she wants a cross-eyed four-headed gnome with eight legs and three wheels poking out of its head, I didn't know what it was.
I tried to get her teachers to pry an answer out of her. They were met with a Fort Knox attitude that makes it really quite obvious that when two stubborn people have a kid, things get ugly.
But then we went to Indiana for Thanksgiving. There were, literally, dozens and dozens of family members who would surely ask her constantly what she wanted for Christmas. All I had to do was stick close by and I was sure to overhear a hint or two.
The only person who did any overhearing was Alexis.
I know exactly how it started. Someone asked her what she wanted. She stonewalled them. I, because I am an IDIOT, brought up that the only thing she has really shown any interest in was an American Girl Doll. Apparently I said it with such a look of disdain on my face that a black hole suddenly opened up right there, and out of that black hole dozens and dozens and dozens of well-meaning American Girl Minions flowed out. Each and every one of them was dressed head-to-toe in American Girl attire as they waved their American Girl Flags proudly and shoved their over-priced and coiffed dolls in my face.
"But look how well made this doll is!"
"I've had my American Girl dolls for ten years and they still look good!"
"She used to carry her American Girl doll with her absolutely everywhere!"
"That was my favorite toy of all time!"
"American Girl! American Girl! AMERICAN GIRL!"
The fans. They are persistent.
They were so persistent in the assurances that it would be a good purchase that somehow they managed to reprogram my dear, sweet daughter and make her one of their own. She has been fully assimilated, people.
When Santa asked Alexis what she wanted for Christmas, I leaned in a little closer, listening carefully for her response. "A baby doll," she whispered.
Psychotic Santa replied, "What kind of baby doll?" Oh, yes, he went there.
"An American Doll!" the little zombie replied.
She later added that she hopes Santa brings her and her doll a matching outfit.