There’s a woman in my office called The Cryptkeeper, and by that I mean I call her that because that’s how she looks. In a department full of chubby suburban ladies, she looks rode hard and rail thin, the latter of which is surprising because by her own admission, she hasn’t eaten a vegetable since sometime in the late ‘90s and favors chips and dip for dinner (to be fair, she thought the dip counted as milk and vegetables because it was white and contained flakes of dehydrated onion).

She’s actually pretty nice, and easy to get along with once you ignore her inability to operate a computer or phone, as well as her tendency to incredulously repeat any news she hears on the radio by beginning with “did you hear about the…”. And while we’re on that subject, “molly” is Ecstasy, okay? It’s not a superdrug made with weed, PCP, heroin, cocaine, crack, bath salts, and crystal meth (you fucking idiots). For one, that kind of potion is way too expensive and impractical, and for two, please stop believing everything you see on Facebook. Jesus.

The Cryptkeeper isn’t a bad coworker, though, although she’s definitely weird. For one, she collects things. And not even very valuable or sensible things, like Star Wars figures inside the packages or first editions of anything. The main thing she collects is shoes. And I don’t mean shoes to put on your feet. I mean miniature shoe figurines. The limited editions of these shoe figurines can run up to hundreds of dollars apiece, and they…sit there? Look like shoes? Plastic shoes at that, and apparently they’re collectible? I don’t understand collectors of pretty much anything (this apprehension goes along with my problem with more stuff), so a horde of plastic right shoes that sits on a shelf is just mystifying to me.

Another thing the Cryptkeeper is into is Shy Kids. Do you know what Shy Kids are? Shy Kids are these fucking things:

Those aren’t real kids, by the way. They’re life-sized dolls of toddlers who are either too shy to face the world or just hanging out in the corner, preparing for a game of hide-and-seek. As far as I can tell, Shy Kids don’t have actual faces, either, because their faces aren’t the point. People don’t want to see their faces. They just want a small, fabric-stuffed person dressed like somebody’s grandma to stand motionless in the living room like they’re waiting for the fun to start. And by fun, I mean the end of the world.

Because Shy Kids are fucking terrifying. And the Cryptkeeper has one. She thinks it’s cute and can’t understand why I’m horrified by the concept. I told her that I’m sorry, I can’t help it. I literally cannot conceive of any possible phase of my life in which I would welcome a Shy Kid into my home. I cannot imagine any purpose it could possibly serve, other than to make me shit my pants when I stumble awake in the middle of the night to use the bathroom and catch a glimpse of this little goblin-shaped thing out of the corner of my eye. I don’t want a child in my home, I don’t want a child-sized doll in my home, and nobody’s playing hide-and-seek in here because that’s pointless.

At least the Cryptkeeper doesn’t treat her Shy Kid like an actual kid. Not like this lady, who deeply disturbs me and not only because she makes her doll child wear the weirdest clothes. But really? A Shy Kid? I just…why? What’s the benefit of that thing? What other holes in your life are you going to fill with uselessly expensive, patently bizarre stuff?

What’s happening with your life, Cryptkeeper? When does it stop?