Mr. Owen and I didn't make it out to the landfill, after all. There's always 2009.
(You want to tag along? Give us a call!)
The socks part of this story is this: A friend mine--let's call him John--is the middle child of three. He has an older brother and a younger sister. As it usually does, Christmas rolled around last week. John got pretty much the usual fare from his mother. So did his sister and her kids. The other brother? A PAIR OF SOCKS.
Now, John tells me his mother isn't exactly Ivanna Trump in the money department. But c'mon, John's Mom, can you at least feign fairness?
Later I e-mailed John and said I think this pretty much sums up why Christmas is bad for a lot of people. (I'm also aware that people don't get socks, or even food.) But it's that whole high expectations thing. The food has to be perfect; everybody has to get along; nobody can get JUST SOCKS.
Agree?
1 comment:
Oh my goodness. Methinks John's brother must have done something this year to royally tic off mom. Poor guy.
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