Boozie thinks she’s getting old. I mean, technically, she’s right, but she links her old age to her Christmas list, which contains…
Now, I’ll give you that a crockpot is not as fun as, say, a gift certificate to the record shop or a new pair of cherry-red stilettoes, but it’s not like she’s asking for Depends. A crockpot! Come on! I’d take a Henckles knife, or a Cuisinart mini-prep… maybe even some nice matching dishes! (confession: we only have 5 plates. this is up from 3 as of two weeks ago.) I’m not making a Christmas list, because as far as I’m concerned, my parents are giving me this thing called a “Wedding”, so I probably don’t relly need to ask for much outside of that. But if I were making a list, i might consider putting a crockpot on it. Except for how Katsumi has this weird thing where he can’t leave appliances plugged in if we’re not in the apartment, so a crockpot would most likely be an excersise in futility.
Nevertheless, there is something about the progression of gifting that correlates to ageing. When I was little, I thought it would be the most boring thing in the world not to get toys for Christmas. We’d visit my relatives’ house and the sight of only books and sweaters under the tree was horrifically depressing. I mean, what did they DO for the rest of Christmas day if they didn’t have toys? last year I looked under our tree. Sweaters, books, pajamas, glassware… I got a wine rack, which was exciting. And then I was like, dude, we’re old.
but you know what’s really old? The fact that tonight I’ll probably stay in and cook this, instead of going out and getting wasted. And that will be fine with me. Mostly. Kind of.
OK, where’s the fucking liquor. I need to recapture my lost youth.
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