I raced into the
living room, eagerly scanning the piles of presents underneath our Christmas
tree. Despite our best intentions, the tree was decorated somewhat haphazardly thanks
to my sister, brother, and I. As my eyes glanced over the tree, I spotted my
special ornaments—my wooden Santa riding a giraffe and my bunny angel. But even
those ornaments barely registered compared to the piles and piles of presents.
Presents, presents, presents.
After everyone
arranged themselves on the couch, in the armchairs, or just standing, my sister
and I began passing out the presents. Minute by minute the little piles next to
everyone’s feet were slowly growing. So was mine. In it was a huge, colorfully
wrapped box. I couldn’t wait to open it.
I hurriedly
distributed the rest of the presents I had in my arms. Then I ran over to my
pile, eagerly eyeing the enormous box in front of me. And because I was only
eight or so, and therefore still had yet to acquire the concept of saving the
best for last, I started tearing at the wrapping paper, enjoying the crinkling
sound it made, wondering what was hiding behind that colorful exterior.
I soon found out.
Barbies. And not
just any Barbies. This package had the traditional, blond Barbie, but also teen
Barbie, and little kid Barbie. I think one of them was named Kelly. And they
had scooters. Yes, I got scootering Barbies for Christmas.
I probably should mention that I was a huge tomboy at
this point. I mean huge. I refused to wear a particular shirt after I noticed
it had a little pink on it. I was that bad.
Therefore, I was beyond disappointed in this present.
How could something so big and colorful contain something so bad? But I still
went up to my grandma and gave her a hug along with a quiet “thank you”.
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