A nasty, wasty weasel
We make a big deal out of Christmas. I insist. I love festivals of self-indulgence.
Maybe being childless does that. Or maybe I’m naturally a selfish piece of shit.
But it finally happened this year: we have run out of ideas for gifts. Anything either of us could possibly want we either already have or can’t afford. We had decided on a frugal Christmas for sheer lack of any great desire, and we’re still coming up short.
I know a little weasel who’s going to spend the next couple of days paging through amazon.com.
p.s. I made Uncle B sit through The Grinch Who Stole Christmas. It doesn’t travel well.
December 9, 2019 — 9:45 pm
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