Throwing Knives for Christmas

Day after Christmas, I’m watching my kids try to murder each other over the two dollar paint by number craft nonsense i got from Michael’s as a rando stocking stuffer. This is how sisterhood ends. Children are such a delightful microcosm of humanity.

I remember suddenly that one Christmas when mom decided Whiskey and I were old enough to buy gifts for each other. Not old enough to pay for said gifts, of course, what with child labor laws being what they are. Anyways, she gave us a few bucks and set us loose on the mall. In retrospect, I’m thinking she just needed an hour or so of some goddamn peace so she could shop. Either way, we had money and no supervision.

So we went to a toy store and we went to a book store and they kicked us out of the cigar store and then we found that store where they sell broad swords and magic wands. Because who doesn’t need their own goddamn broad sword? Losers, that’s who.

Flash forward a few weeks to Christmas morning. The magic has been brought with the power of a devoted grandma to two sad products of divorce. There was a lotta magic, is what I’m saying. And then with lights sparkling and the entirety of the entire family in observance, my brother and I shared our precious gifts.

It was throwing knives. We got each other matching throwing knives. Because love. And poor supervision. And love. And also, THROWING KNIVES.

It’s still the best gift ever. It’s fun and dangerous and requires just enough skill to make your garage door into a pegboard. We made a target, Whiskey and I, out of foam-core and dreams, but it turns out we had terrible aim…and also throwing knives. Who gives middle schoolers throwing knives? Honestly.

It was the best Christmas ever. I was so proud of my gift choice, I can’t even remember the expressions on the adult faces all around me. I wish I could because now, having kids, I feel  like there was hilarity all around for the adults who weren’t mom. Either way, Happy Holidays you f’ing animals.

 

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