Christmas disappointment at age 7

Since late summer you've been letting the hints out. You want a G I Joe complete with Marine Assault Rifle and Scuba Gear Torpedo. You even talked Mom into badgering Dad over the whole "no son of mine will ever play with dolls" thing. Now it's Christmas morning and you're ripping away at the nicely wrapped boxes. Already you've had some setbacks...scratchy underwear from Aunt Clara in Ashtabula and books, for christsake BOOKS!, from Grandma, but there is a likely box...just the right size for 1/12 scale all-American destruction in cast plastic form. You rip it open and......

WHAT THE F*&# IS THIS?

You'd say that was the gayest thing you've ever seen except that that concept has no meaning to you at this age. If you were born 30 years later you might class it as "lame."

Where are the guns? The bazooka? At least there is a jeep, but holy cow that's no Zodiac landing craft it's towing, it's a canoe.

Knowing how your friends will belittle you tomorrow for receiving such a sissyfied gift, you force a little trouper smile and croak "thanks mom and dad" before turning to the pile of books to see if any are sturdy enough to wack your baby sister with. And maybe with some skill and luck, you can modify this stupid doll to, instead of a snappy oh so sappy salute, flash The Finger when his arm is pulled.