The Christmas List Goes Horribly Wrong

I was just telling a friend about how fabulous Miss P has been about not manufacturing this massive holiday gift list, and then we have this conversation:

Her: I need this bed for Sabrenda.

(Sabrenda is her favorite Asian baby doll, which the super-amazingly-fabulous people at Corolle gave to me at the Type-A Parent Conference in Asheville. Sabrenda is getting an absolute ton of clothes this year from Santa Claus - which I'm paying for, since the super-amazingly-fabulous people at Corolle already gave me the doll and how much more can I expect from them? Entitled bloggers drive me crazy. Oh wait... back to the doll. She's getting a ton of clothes this year because right now the poor thing is wearing ill-fitting Bitty Baby clothing and it's not a good look. You should get this doll, because it's awesome. But you don't have to name it Sabrenda.)

I'm taking a lot of cold medicine. That may explain the previous paragraph. Anywho.

Her: I need this bed for Sabrenda.

Me: We already have a baby bed.

Her: Then I need this box for Sabrenda's clothes.

Me: We should put that in a letter to Santa Claus.

Her: Santa Claus wouldn't buy the right clothes.

Me: Santa doesn't buy clothes - the elves make them!

Her: No, they don't. Because the elves would just wear them. Sabrenda needs new clothes. Not old elf clothes.

Me: ... I don't even know what to say to that.

Her: Sabrenda needs a sister.

That's what I get for letting the four year old look at the American Girl catalog.