I guess I should have put a spoiler alert in front of that title, but you have to find out sometime.
The Christmas I was nine the present I wanted most was a Slinky. I know, I know, but I've always been Low Maintenance. Anyroad, I was extremely vocal about this. I talked about it ad nauseum, I freaked out when the commercial came on ("Everyone wants a Slinky, You want to get a Slliinnkky!") It was the 50's, brainwashing was in. And of course it was the top of my list in my Letter to Santa.
On Christmas Eve, I was telling my mother how excited I was about Christmas, and, in particular, about finally getting a Slinky. She stopped dead in her tracks and gave me a Joan Crawford "no more wire hangers-ever" look, and said, "What's a Slinky?" I regaled her with the many wonders of the Slinky and then plaintively reminded her, "I told Santa I wanted it!!!" She angrily threw on her coat and yelled to my father, "Charlie, I have to go to Thrift Drugs, I'll be right back!" She came back twenty minutes later with a small, square box in a brown paper bag.
Now, in addition to being LM, I am also Extremely Naive, but I ain't the dullest crayon in the box, so I put 2 and 6 together and figured out that Mommy + Daddy = Santa Claus. I wasn't so much disappointed in finding out He didn't exist as I was deflated that Mommy hadn't listened to me. Again.
Moral of the Story: Keep bitching till you get what you want.