Three Gifts That Won't Be in My Kids' Christmas Stockings
So I'm waxing wise-ass with my eldest, the mother of two, about the breast-feeding doll, and she says there is a Furby in her house about which she's not too crazy.
"You know, one of those Furbys. They were big a few years back and I guess they are making a resurgence." Her brother-in-law, who lives in the basement, had been given one as a gag gift, and it was bugging her.
I didn't catch that trend (a phrase I've used quite a few times in my life), because I've spent the past forever raising actual people. So I asked for more info.
"It's like a little pet, or companion. It talks in sort of it's own language," she says, "and then sometimes it kicks into 'Valley Girl' language. It kind of looks like a Gremlin."
It sounded pretty bizarre, so later that day when I was Skyping with her and my grandsons, I asked her to grab it.
Bizarre is right. As if it knew, the thing's eyes lit up and it danced around spouting some sort of strange language. It did look like a Gremlin, about two minutes after midnight when it was starting to mutate (can someone please move the water away). I was expecting it to attack the baby at any minute.
So no thanks on Furby. Not because the kids can't handle it, because I can't. My little one has a talking doll that randomly made crying sounds (Dad's nickname for said baby: Freaky Baby) while I was alone in the house, and it just about send me through the roof. (Freaky's batteries have been forever removed.) That was just a cry - just imagine if it was saying something in "Furbish".
Maybe it's the Freaky Baby, or maybe just too many memories of psycho dolls past. Chucky. The Clown in Poltergeist. The puppet in Magic. Either way, I just don't think I'd sleep well with Furby on the loose.