Makes sense. Maybe I’ll get the kids Jarts, that lawn dart game from my childhood. A cross between tossing horseshoes and slinging daggers in a circus act, the game was a thrill a minute. What could be more fun than impaling the neighbor kid’s foot? OK, maybe bloodying his nose with a Clacker ball.

Dolls were, and still are, popular items under the tree. A perennial fave on Contessa’s wish list was Chatty Cathy. Just pull a string and she spoke, saying simple words like “hello.” Chatty didn’t do much else, other than raising her arms straight up in the air over her head. She looked like a UT fan tossing up her hands in disgust after the College Bowl Championship Series bids were announced.

It may have taken 30 years, but Santa finally delivered my own version of the doll¯Chatty Cat. Just push Chatty Cat’s buttons and she’ll spill out sweet things like, “Chillax, dude.” My living doll is much more versatile than the original. She can move, crossing her arms over her chest and rolling her eyes at the same time. Her vocabulary is extensive enough to answer questions. When asked if she’d like to unload the dishwasher, out comes “Nah, I’m good.”

Barbie was another biggie on Contessa’s wish list, although Santa delivered a cheap knock-off in his first attempt. He sent her Miss Suzette, a wannabe complete with an upswept do, French name and Toyland breast augmentation. Miss Suzette’s boombas made Barbie look like she just stepped out of a training bra commercial. Sadly, even though Barbie’s been the dollhouse diva for nearly half a century, she’s got serious competition from a new line of dolls. They’re Bratz and they do for the drugged-out, thuggish look what Barbie did for unrealistic body images.

Another doll, making a comeback, is G.I. Joe. That’s the soldier boy who had the year he was produced date-stamped on his rump. No wonder G.I. Joe looks as if he could pound the plastic out of Ken. Can you imagine if all of us had our birthdates branded on our backsides? Thong sales to middle-age women would dry up.

A popular gift when I was a kid was the Magic 8 Ball, a clairvoyant paper weight. A kid would ask the ball any yes/no question and got back answers like “signs point to a yes,” “outlook not so good” or “looks hazy.” Of course, today’s updated Magic 8 Ball might have a few different responses.

The Big Guy: Will I break last year’s record for watching consecutive bowl games without giving up control of the remote?

Magic 8 Ball: You betcha!

The Big Guy: Will I find a golfer’s GPS under the tree this year?

Magic 8 Ball: No freaking way.

The Big Guy: Is this the year Contessa will let me watch the holiday classic, “Victoria Secret’s Fashion Show?”

Magic 8 Ball: You’re kidding me, right?

Every kid wanted to know their future, but even better than the Magic 8 Ball at predicting life’s path was the board game, Life. You’d land on a space and discover “You’re having a baby, move ahead two spaces.” Then, draw the card, “Sixth-month surprise, they’re twins,” and you’d have to move back three spaces. Just when the fun kicked in, you’d hit “Hurricane strikes, recession slams, twins’ college funds evaporate, Pinot and Grigio move home,” and you’re instructed to start all over. Good thing Life was only a game.

Contessa has only one nostalgic toy on her list this year. Pick-up sticks¯the kind that swizzle in a martini.

Danielle Schaaf is the co-author of “Don’t Chew Jesus!” and can be contacted at hauteflashcontessa@yahoo.com. Read more of what the Contessa has to say at www.hauteflashcontessa.blogspot.com.