There's really no other way to say it. I don't dislike stuffed animals. I don't sigh with disapproval at stuffed animals. I really, truly, seriously, honestly bloody hate them.
They aren't really toys, they're not really decor. They are things you trip on, vile, dirty things with tiny styrofoam beady things inside them and creepy glas-tic eyes and totally not cuddly fur. And I swear to God, those things screw and bear forth the fruits of their polyester loins IN MY CHILDREN'S PRESENCE.
Don't tell me they don't because I know they do.
One of my children's uncles, who shall remain nameless, but if you call me I could be persuaded to rat him out, brings my short people stuffed animals. Often. It's really nice that he thinks of them, and yeah, that whole GIFT HORSE and MOUTH thing, but I have reached my limit of Larger Than Most Of The Humans In My House Stuffed Fakeys thing.
Seven. Years. We have been asking him to stop. bringing. the. stuffed. animals. for. seven. flipping. years. We have been casual and indirect. We have said, Thanks for bringing them presents, but they play with crayons and markers way more than stuffed toys. We have even been direct and blunt, and have said, PLEASE STOP BRINGING THEM STUFFED TOYS!!!! and NO MORE STUFFED ANIMALS!!!! and THE STUFFED ANIMALS ARE TAKING OVER THE HOUSE!!!! and I CAN'T HAVE ANY MORE OF THESE THINGS IN MY HOUSE!!!!
But no. Sadly, the animals? They keeps on a-comin'. This weekend, he had two GARBAGE BAGS FULL. And the one for Elliott? Was TWICE THE SIZE OF MAH BABEH.
I said, NO MORE STUFFED ANIMALS. REALLY. DON'T BRING ANY MORE TO THEM.
He said, Well, you know.
I said, NO. MORE.
Five bucks says that within two months he brings more.