two hours done

I just finished my x-mas shopping.

In two hours.


My mom subtly hinted that I actually, y’know, go to a store, and touch something that I would potentially buy.

I guess she wasn’t too impressed with me last year. We were opening gifts over the phone.
“Oh, you got me candles,” she said.
“Yeah. You said you needed some,” I said.
“These are great.”
“Do they smell okay?”
“Yes. I like the way they smell very much.”
“What do they smell like?”
“It just said ‘Pacifica Spice’. I don’t know what that smells like. But the color looked like a good smelling color on my monitor.”

So this year, she suggested that I go to a bookstore. I like bookstores, she said. They’re loaded with ideas.

Pass. Physical shopping curdles the bile in my lower intestine, especially shopping for vague, uncertain x-mas wishlists. I can spend hours in a store and walk out with nothing but a headache and a desperate need for whiskey. It all looks the same to me.

Suggest all she wants, but ever since she relocated with her hubby and my grandmother to D.C., I just can’t be bothered. Two hours! Sure, I probably paid a little more for S&H. And I didn’t pay a dime in gas looking for a parking spot at the insidious mall, driving through traffic, or going to the post office. Not to mention packing the gifts – finding/buying the cardboard boxes, packing tape, and the stryrofoam popcorns. And gift wrap? Some monkey I’ve never met is personalizing and wrapping my gifts right now. Think of the spools of Scotch tape alone that I’m saving the world. And the mall won’t serve me Lapsang Souchong tea while I listen to Thievery Corporation. Know where I can do that?

In my fuckin’ house is where. In my drawers, no less.


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