7 Things You Can Tell Your Kids When They Say They’re Bored The Day After Christmas
Merry Christmas, Christmas celebrators! We’ve made it to Christmas Eve, which means we are a mere 24 hours a way from giving the children new things to entertain themselves with. And a mere 48 hours from hearing the first, “I’m bored.”
So what do we do with the rage that comes from our children tiring ofÂ Christmas presents we spent months looking for, hours wrapping, and many dollars purchasing? Here are some ways you can respond:
1. “Well, then we should just throw away all those new toys, huh?” (Tell them to go fuck themselves without actually saying it, because you’re a grown-up.)
Nothing makes a child appreciate a gift more than the threat of throwing it away. This has a 99% success rate. The other one percent are ballsy little psychopaths who will call you on your bluff.
2. “What did you say? I didn’t hear you because I was busy enjoying my lovely, thoughtful gifts.”Â (But also, the horse they rode in on can fuck off as well.)
I’m going to take these socks, and this book, and this hand-made pasta necklace, and this scarf, and this gift card to Old Navy, and I am going to have a hell of a time. Enjoy your sadness, sadness-lover.
3. “Congratulations. You just hurt Santa’s feelings. (Give them the gift of guilt.)
You’re the reason Santa eats his feelings, honey.
4. “Maybe we shouldn’t have Christmas anymore.” (Be a model of holiday passive aggressiveness.)
I mean, if Christmas brings you pain and not joy, then I suppose that would be best. *massive sigh* *sad trombone*
5. “There are children out there who would be grateful for one of your gifts. (Drop some truth.)
No really, I’m begging you to complain one more time so we can get on the computer andÂ search Google images for “poverty.”
6. “Excellent. Time for chores.” (Teach them a lesson about boredom.)
Here’s a broom. Make yourself useful, motherfucker.
7. “You’re acting like the fact that you’re bored should worry me. It doesn’t.” (Drop an atomic honesty bomb.)
Your boredom means nothing, and fixing it is not my job. Now, leave me.
Merry Christmas, you ungrateful bastards.