This is the actual text message exchange with my brother: He writes: Just got my Xmas present from you. You were very generous this year. Perplexed, I write: Huh!?! He replies: I just bought my Christmas present from you … for myself. Therefore unless you are some Christmas hating heathen, you are required to spend the same amount on yourself, or you get the Scrooge/Grinch Before They Learned Their Lesson Award. Confused, but playing it off — like I know what in the heck he is talking about — I write: Cool. How much you spend?
All I want for Christmas? For everyone to stop asking
What do I want for Christmas? Peace on Earth and good will toward men. Now stop asking! It’s that time of year when family starts calling. Starts emailing. Starts prodding. Starts employing ESP on us. All in order to spirit away gift ideas, mainly for the resident 5-year-old.
As the Christmas Gift Sharks Circle
The gift sharks are circling. Hungry and anxious, their teeth snapping as they break the surface. Fins ominously cutting through the water, splashing, growing more impatient. Waiting for something to fall so they can snap it up. Their ghost-like cries of, “What does Amelie want for Christmas? Tell me what Amelie wants for Christmas!” Wait a minute … sharks don’t talk! But they do in my family. Do you have any gift sharks in your brood? We all do, especially when there are children around. In my family there is only one child, which means all attention turns to her come Christmas time. And that can be a little much. It’s like chum in the water and a full-on feeding frenzy.