All I want for Christmas is my reputation

QUICKIE: Vincenzo: “Mom, let’s pretend you’re a person.”
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Humor Bloggers is doing a “best/worst Christmas present ever” bash tomorrow, and I was going to post the following until this year’s present came.  I will thus spend today writing about false advertising and Internet crime , but in the meantime, here is the present formerly known as my worst Christmas present ever.  Enjoy.

My husband is a notoriously bad present hider.  He usually sticks my present somewhere like in my son’s closet, right next to the wet wipes I use every day.  Or there will be a very large charge to the WWE on our credit card that I couldn’t possibly overlook and that he didn’t warn me about but that earned me the title of “snoop” for years afterwards.  Kevin’s strategy has improved over the years, but only slightly.  For example, I am currently not allowed to dig too deep in my son’s 6″ deep underwear drawer because apparently there’s a little something for me in there.  (Anyone want to bet against me that it’s a toddler-sized turd?)  To regain my noble, non-snoopy reputation, I have kept my son in the same pair of underwear for two weeks now.

Last year’s Christmas present’s hiding place was classic.  A couple days before Christmas we ran out of TP upstairs.  Naturally, I headed to the garage to tap into our Y2K supply of TP and there, in plain sight, was a set of tiered serving platters in a brand-new box.  I quickly grabbed the rubber mallet off Kevin’s workbench and whammed myself in the head repeatedly so I might forget the Christmas present and NOT be accused of being a snoop for Christmas, but alas, the tiered serving platters were burned into my retinas.

You can imagine my delight on Christmas morn’ when I was presented a beautifully wrapped box–a box the size of, oh, a set of tiered serving platters, not to pigeon-hole it or anything.  I opened it up and pulled out…our own, batter-splashed hand-mixer.  Then our stained kitchen towels.  Then a pair of my husband’s briefs and some half-used candles.  I looked up at him questioningly, but he had already headed to the basement, yelling, “I give up.  SNOOP!”

Now why he thinks I had anything to do with the box’s content it is beyond me.  Why would I sabotage my own Christmas gift?  Me, who LOVES surprises almost as much as I love MYSELF!?

And just because I managed to come across a brand-new set of tiered serving platters for appetizers later that day doesn’t prove anything.

4 thoughts on “All I want for Christmas is my reputation

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