I know I’ve talked before about this whole “getting old as seen through the presentation of gifts” aspect of life – the notion that when you’re little you want My Little Ponies then you want makeup and CD gift cards, and finally you’re asking for bedroom slippers and Metamucil and oh, a DVD set of Murder She Wrote season one would be just lovely, thank you.
I’m too lazy to go through the archives and find it, but you and I both know it’s there.
So anyway, this Christmas my mom went nuts with the presents as usual, despite having been out of town caring for her widowed mother until December 15, and my take included certain items that were refreshingly carefree:
– A scrabble game with the spinny spinny thing so you don’t have to shuffle the board around to take your turn
– Clue (which i actually hate, don’t tell my parents. This one is getting exchanged for strip poker or something.)
– a 1.75 liter bottle of Ketel One vodka
But my heart soared aloft when I opened the Williams Sonoma egg poacher. And I almost tackled my sister after opening a pair of Ugg slippers (she’s too good to me, I swear).
So it’s kind of 50/50 I guess. But dude just put ONE TOE into those slippers and you will know the true meaning of comfort. Plus they’ll ensure that I don’t stub my toe while careening around my apartment after my binge on top-shelf booze.
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