How Toy Story Ruined Everything

For a minute here, I'm going to assume we've all seen the movie Toy Story.  Because really, if you haven't, what are you doing out from under that rock and onto the internet?

So Toy Story; Introducing the idea that toys have lives and feelings. Deep feelings. Feelings that make me cry after each viewing.

This is a problem.

Especially at this time, late November, as I'm smuggling more toys into the house stealthily, to open come Christmas morning. After I pack all the secret purchases away in the closet under the stairs, (future children, ignore this, I have found a much better hiding place by now) I start to gaze upon the already heaping pile of toys scattered around the house. It triggers a sinking feeling in my stomach. Am I REALLY bringing MORE toys into this post-apocalyptic landscape?! REALLY?! How many sundry items could three small children possibly require?

Large scale purging thoughts start creeping in. I start examining each toy- have they played with this recently? Have they used in the manner to which it was intended? (or are they just flicking stuff over the bannisters for fun?) Is this age appropriate?

C'mon, how long am I really expected to keep this around?

HOW LONG? 

So back to the point. I've weeded through the mountain of toys, and here is where Toy Story comes into play. If cartoons have taught me anything, it is that toys are people. They spring to life the second we humans close the door. HOW CAN WE PROVE THEY DON'T? You can't. It COULD be true! You don't know!

Please take pity on me and my friends! Do not send us to a fiery death of the incinerator! Or some nightmare daycare run by a mafia of stuffed bears! I employee you with my sweet painted panda eyes!

I refuse to be the talking leg-only parents that orders the demise of dozens of innocent toys! KEEP THEM! KEEP THEM ALL! I'm not heartless!

However... I am running out of space. (It's a feeling akin to Samuel L. Jackson's sentiment "I've had it with these motherf-ing snakes on this motherf-ing plane!" Supplant "snakes" with "toys" and "plane" with "house," and you've got the feeling pretty well captured) We're up to our eyeballs in plastic thiiiiiings.

Perhaps this is why Santa will be placing bedsheets under the tree? (Hey! They need new sheets! May as well wrap them and make a spectacle of it)

So here I am, left conjuring up imaginary story lines for every stuffed elephant, Little People figure, and plastic dinosaur. Thus making it impossible to clean out the playroom with a clean conscience. Should I hire a crack team of assassins to the job? (I am now accepting applications!)

Good luck with your holiday shopping. Never forget- the toys are watching.