Why I hate the smurfs and creepy tales

I hate the smurfs. I'm sorry (no, I'm not). I really am (no, I'm really not). But I HATE the smurfs. Period.

It wasn't like this before. I used to watch their cartoons when I was younger, and I actually remembered that I liked it---heck, I even knew the song (la la la la la laaaaa, laaaa la la la laaaaaa, la la la la la laaaaaaa, laaaa la la la laaaaaaa). But not anymore more. Oh no. Nowadays, I won't even watch the trailer for the 3D movie that was made.

But there is a very, VERY reasonable explanation why I hate the smurfs: older kids ruined them for me.

When I was a kid (like 8 years old) I went to one of my older brother's classroom's Halloween party. Let me say that each year, they would always get together, dress up, and play all sort of things.

As the clingy little sister I was (and sort of still am), I had always dreamed about going to one of their parties. I wanted to be just like them: cool and awesome and older... 'cause back then, being older was the coolest thing ever.

Level of coolness:
1) Know how to dance.
2) Have an awesome scar.
3) Can pull wearing shades without looking like a douche.
4) People make way when you walk.
5) Never look at explosions.

Big kids were a "level 5". I looked up to them, I wanted to be included too, but my older brother NEVER invited me.

But this year, THIS YEAR, was going to be different. All of the parents decided to contribute to the party by organizing food, beverages, games and competitions.
My mom (awesome as she still is) obviously became one of the leader parents and came up with a lot of cool things for the party. Since my mom was a head in this new organization, WE (my little brother and I) were for the first time included ('cause my dad worked all day and we didn't have a nanny, so my mom was actually stuck with us). And not only that, oh no. I was also included as part of the show! I was the fortune-teller's assistant.

The game consisted in my mom dressing up as a fortune-teller, and letting each kid come inside our tent and she would take their hands and "predict" their future. I would do something stupid like hand over some cards to my mom, but I was reaaaally into it: I was finally a part of the coolest big kids' party ever!
My mom's game was the most successful one at the party 'cause she was right EVERY time! You know how some kids try to hide their feelings for each other? And how it is just stupid because EVERYBODY CAN TELL! (kids don't know how to hide their crushes... especially in elementary). And parents, well, it's not that hard for them to tell that his/her daughter/son has a crush on someone. 

My mom picked up on almost every kid's crush (as all the rest of the parents do). So when she was "predicting", she was actually telling them what she knew. Every single kid was like "WOW!!! How do YOU KNOW!?!?!" Easy: MAGIC (and being smart enough to tell when a kid has a crush or not).


Anyways, after that game ended (that is, after each 10 year old proved their crushes right to my mom), we were going to take a break.


My mom went along to have her girl-talk with the rest of the moms there. But I had other plans. Now that the big kids new that I was cool (for being a "legit" fortune-teller's assistant, that is), I was sure they would now include me in their stuff. 
I headed towards a girl that I knew pretty well because she hanged out with my brother a lot, and I asked her what she was doing. She said she was getting some chips for the group that was inside of the house. She IMMEDIATELY invited me to join them (that's a WIN, a "I'm finally as cool as the big kids" win). So I did. 

We went inside, and they were all sitting in a circle. I sat next to her, unaware of why they were sitting like that.


"Ok, I wanna go first!" another girl said. "Once upon a time, there was a kid that had a dog. That dog slept in his room's floor every night. Every time the kid had a bad dream, he would put his hand down the bed and his dog would lick it. That made the kid feel safe.

Every night, he would start having bad dreams, but his dog would always lick his hand. One night, he had the craziest dream and he put his hand down. It got licked. Then he had another nightmare. He put his hand down, and again it was licked. And this went on for three hours. Until he felt little drops on his forehead. He put his hand down again, and it was licked. But the drops still fell on his forehead. He turned on the light, and looked up, trying to discover the source of the liquid on his forehead. He then saw his dog, tied around the ceiling's fan, DEAD!!! And his blood was pouring down on the kid's bed. The kid screamed in horror, as he wondered WHAT had been licking his hand all this time. THE END!!!"


Scary stories... Scary FREAKING stories were being told!!! And I was the worst person to listen to scary tales. I still can't watch horror movies, and I'm 24 years old!!! Imagine me, a little 8 year old, listening to scary stories, about kids in bed, hands being licked, and a dead dog on the ceiling's fan!!! I HAD A DOG TOO!!!!!!!!


I wanted to get out of there, but I had finally become "cool". I had finally become a part of the big kids' group, and I wasn't going to let my scariness ruin it. So I took a deep breath and stayed there.

The next story was up.


"There was this little kid, Timmy, who really loved the smurfs. He had tons of toys, a big plushie, and even blue curtains with the smurfs playing around. He would always play with his imaginary smurf friends. He would even take food into his room and say that it was for his friends. His parents didn't like this too much. They were scared that he would become obsessed and all crazy about them. So, one night, just before he went to sleep, they asked him to stop playing with his imaginary friends. They asked him to 'grow-up' and start thinking about other big kid things, like soccer and football. The kid was sad, and a little upset. But he loved his parents so much, that he said he would do it... he would act more like a big kid, starting from tomorrow.
The parents went to bed happy, feeling victorious and safe about their son. It wasn't until the next morning when little Timmy didn't show up for breakfast, that they sensed something was wrong. They went upstairs to his room, they opened the door and turned on the light. And there was little Timmy, dead, sewed to the blue curtains, only now, there weren't any smurfs in it... THE END!!!"


Let me just say, that THAT was the scariest story I had ever heard (it's been stuck in my head all these years, so yeah, you can pretty much say it marked me for life).

I also had curtains (with flowers, but still). What if that happened to me too? I looked around and everybody was laughing; just two or three other kids were as afraid as I was. I was so traumatized. I couldn't get the image of the kid sewed to the curtains off my head.


And guess what? ANOTHER story was up! Being with the big kids had taken away my mental health. I got up, and decided that it wasn't worth it. I rather be a looser than having constant nightmares with deadly handcrafting smurfs.


I got up, my brother looked at me and said: "What's wrong? Are we leaving already?"
"No," I said. "I think my break is over. I have to get back to help the fortune-teller."


I went outside with the grown-ups, and I ran into my tent of safety.

I've always thought about those scary kid stories. As hard as I try, I can never let go of them. I still won't put my hands down my bed. I'm scared. I'm scared that a demon or something is going to lick my hands and then kill me or my dog.
And the worst part is I KNOW that there is no such thing as a hand-licking, under bed, dog murderer demon, but I'm still scared.


Moral of the story: DON'T HANG OUT WITH OLDER KIDS!