Liar, liar pants on fire.

Lies we happily perpetuate to our children.

 

1. Father Christmas/Santa Claus/Cristingle.  

This is a lie of epic proportions that all parent’s peddle each and every year, seemingly with no guilt whatsoever.  We actually expect our children to believe that once a year a fat and hairy man in a gaudy red suit will journey from the North Pole on a flying sleigh pulled by a ruck of reindeers? Then regardless of whether we live in a apartment or have a narrow flue leading into a woodburner he will still apparently come down the chimney to empty his sack all over the front-room carpet.  We’re also quite content to promote drinking and driving and adult obesity via our little tray of ‘fatty liver goods’ not to mention being so tight that we expect 8 reindeers to share one fucking carrot. We’ll then coerce our little darlings to go to sleep early just so this tubby and potentially inebriated intruder can gain entry into our home in the dead of night.   Any parent worth their salt will then weave lie upon lie into the very heart of this global propaganda with each and every ill-conceived answer to their little darling’s probing questions about the perfectly obvious flaws in this festive fabrication:

 

A. Why does FC have the same wrapping paper as you; does he shop at Aldi too? Why do the elves pack some stuff beautifully yet not appear to give a shit about others; like the one’s in newspaper from mad Aunty Sandra? 

 

B. How come this present says ‘from Granma’; does FC collect stuff from her or does she post it all the way to the North Pole so he can bring it all the way back again; because that seems to be both a time management issue and a horrible waste of money on postage? 

 

C. Is the FC we saw at the Wyevale Shopping Centre the real one?  And if not, why did you pay ten quid for him to give me a selection box?  And why does he look different from the one giving out free chocolate coins in the Co-op with bad breath and thick glasses? Why do the fat one’s look jolly and the thinner one’s depressed; should I take this as a constructive analogy for my future personal body image and bugger type 2 diabetes right up it’s sugary arse?

 

D. Does FC have a wife? A house with a chimney, a decent pension and retirement plan?  Who will take over from him when he’s dead?  Does he have issues with erectile dysfunction due to all that sitting down and excess sherry?  Would his wife take an elf-lover if FC was unable to satisfy her latent desire for his ‘yule log’?

 

We must all agree that children are remarkably savvy in these modern times and I’m wondering if it’s time to give the whole thing up?  I mean seriously within ten years the FC revolution would be nothing more than an urban myth; like Craig David.  I suppose we would then have to give up the next lie too…

 

2. The Tooth Fairy.

So with each missing ‘tic-tac’ we buy into the notion that a teeny-tiny fairy will fly in through..? Sorry I’m not sure I’ve ever been asked this one.  Is it an open window? No, that would only work in the summer, the chimney again?  More plausible too be fair; size-wise.  Air brick? Vent for the boiler?  Shit; I’ve been doling out coins to kids for 25 years how the hell have I got far with this big a blemish in the tale? Anyway us parents once more conjure up a magical fable of flying fairies who’ll arrive; again in the dead of night, heave the kids sweaty head off the pillow enough to obtain the tooth and leave a quid in it’s place.  What’s not to like? I think it’s testament to my number 3’s utterly cynical nature even at age 7 that these are the types of questions I have to field:

 

A. How come the tooth fairy has so much money?  Is she selling each tooth with a mark-up?  So in essence is she making money from me? Perhaps I’ll not bother leaving it under my pillow, choosing instead to upload several filtered pictures of said tooth onto Ebay with a reserve price of 2 quid; thus doubling the original investment I would have received should I have trusted the duplicitous sprite.

 

B. What does she do with all the teeth?  Is there some macabre tooth mountain somewhere she stands atop naked when the moon is full and she is off her tits on mushrooms?  Or could she be a creepy imp iteration of ‘Buffalo Bill’ in ‘Silence of the Lambs’ and she is in fact building herself a house of teeth with molar turrets and a roof woven from discarded lengths of used floss?

 

C. Does she have children? And if so who will collect their teeth and replace with a quid when it’s there turn?  Is a quid even currency in fairyland? Where is that by the way and does it have a McDonalds?

 

3. The Easter Bunny.

Another whopper which; like Christmas, we tie into yet another unpleasant episode in Jesus’s ill-fated time on earth. At this time we encourage the decoration of cheap yellow hats from ‘The Works’, shoddy painted hard-boiled eggs and cards bearing chicks and bunnies and daffodils and more eggs in shades of predominantly yellow and green.  Truth be known the kids are only interested in the chocolate; whether it be egg-shaped, bunny or even a bloody Toblerone; who gives a shit as long as it’s creamy, melt-in-the-mouth and they can ingest it before breakfast for three days straight or until they become constipated. Though they still cling on to the premise that a rabbit; probably wearing a plaid waistcoat and a jaunty hat with ears jutting through hops to each garden in the land with a mahoosive basket of eggs.  The yellow-toothed lapine is then apparently arsed to hide a haul of chocolate eggs around the garden for the children to lovingly ‘hunt’ for the next day.  Which frankly from a parental point of view is as irritating as thread worms especially when there’s a cold snap or heavy morning dew; think wet slippers and everyone’s PJ’s not lasting the regulation two days. As you would imagine there are questions even around this fluffy time of year:

 

A. Is it a bunny or a rabbit; because surely a bunny would be too young to travel solo and would struggle with the basket and stuff?  And on that note; is it a he or she?  Admittedly there is an uprising in human girls lifting these days and it’s fact that those with heavy facial hair, anger issues and no periods can easily be as strong as boys.  I would imagine this sentiment could easily translate to the warren. 

 

B. If the Easter bunny brings the eggs does he buy them from a supermarket or are they made in-house which would probably be much more cost effective?  And if not the supermarket who the fuck is buying all the eggs off their shelves and who the hell for? Are they sold predominantly for the nation of pre-menstrual women who require their chocolate fix to raise their serotonin levels to a sufficient level for them to raise a smile during their time of the month?  And if that is true then it must also be correct that Easter is probably the best month in the calendar for women collectively (apart from Christmas) as the rest of the year they’ll be mostly nibbling on the kid’s lunchbox Blue Ribbons in desperation?

 

4. It won’t hurt.

This particular lie pertains to injections, the removal of splinters and in my house the cutting of the little toe nail.

 

5. Daddy won’t be long.

Colossal falsehood pertaining to the length of time a man will be in the toilet; whatever your initial guess might be, double it then add ten extra minutes for them to finish scrolling through BBC Sports and have a quick solo fumble.

 

 

 

 

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