Front teeth, check. Vacuum, you better check out
Sure, we’re all familiar with the classic song about the little feller, presumably recently visited by the Tooth Fairy, who just wants his two main incisors as a present this year.
You know, Spike Jones & His City Slickers’ 1948 seasonal smash “All I Want for Christmas is My Two Front Teeth.”
The song was written in 1944 by teacher Donald Gardner during a class at public schools in Smithtown, N.Y., where he taught music.
Apparently, he’d asked his second-graders what they wanted for Christmas and noticed that almost all of the students had at least one front tooth missing as they answered in a lisp. Inspired, Gardner wrote the song — within 30 minutes.
The ditty became a phenom … as indicated by the multiplicity with which it was ripped off, er, I mean, remade. And then re-remade. And then … you get it.
Alvin and the Chipmunks were the first to re-record the song in 1961. Nat “King” Cole, ever the class act, deemed a respectable grace period before unleashing HIS beloved version — Gardner’s fave, incidentally.
Personally, I’m partial to Big Bad Voo Doo Daddy’s 2013 rendition. Just sayin’.
All this to say, I’m not one to ask for anything at Christmas or ever, but I will tell you what I DON’T want for Christmas:
I’m not naming it but everyone is aware of the plague of which I refuse to speak. Blech. Don’t want it for anyone in Casa Kimerer … or in my fam … or in my circle of Peeps … or of the humanoid persuasion. Indeed, I don’t want it to come within six or 60 or 60 gazillion, quadrillion, 150 bazillion feet of me, mine, or even any creature great or small living on the third rock.
Except for, maybe, those Asian giant murder hornets. I think even PETA is with me on this one. What the hex is WRONG with those things, anyway? Honey-bee slaughtering sickos. Ahem, I digress.
• The Mirror.
You know, the one with the trainer and like, 90 million exercise enthusiasts hiding inside it some cyber way? I’m sorry, but is anyone else as creeped out by this whole concept as yours truly?
First of all, women my age avoid mirrors about 98.72 percent of the time as a hard and fast rule. But to have svelte exercise Svengali Sven staring into my soul as I sweat, grunt and barely cling to gravity whilst my sagging 50-plus body struggles to keep up with buns-o-steel bikini Barbie bouncing around the Barbados beach? Naw.
• The manspider.
This little clay sculpture of a man’s head (roughly the size of the one on the Ken doll) affixed atop eight spider legs is available on Etsy. But, Madone! Why? Who invented that? And moreover, how much coal needs to be on your stocking to earn one of THOSE bad boys?
Please, for the love of all that is holy, no.
• A vacuum cleaner.
I don’t care if it’s the Bissell 8,597 and it cleans the floor, scrubs the carpet, tosses in a load of laundry and neatly puts itself away in the closet when it’s done. Nothing says, “I bought this cuz we need it, and also, you’re kind of a slacker” like a vacuum cleaner under the tree.
I did NOT appreciate it the year Kyle was born and I sure as shootin’ don’t need another reason to feel unproductive these days, capisce? #ThisMeansYouKerry