Now to the presents.
One of the best things I like about my man is that he has my Christmas presents professionally wrapped every year. By “professionally wrapped,” I’m talking about those customer service maids that take for-evah to wrap a gift using all that shiny Christmas paper on-a-roll and double sided tape. The ol’ gals that can make a bow and a pinecone pick look like it’s worth a million bucks! That kind of “professionally wrapped.”
So last night, Wayne insisted that he finish (aka “get started”) on his Christmas shopping. Alise and I tagged along with the promise that if he fed us Chic-fil-a, we would go in the opposite direction and let him “finish” his shopping alone. After not one, but TWO potty breaks (I despise public restrooms), hollering, “Mommie, take my picture!” beside every mall decoration she saw, begging to ride the carousel AND build a bear a week before Christmas in a store that is quickly becoming the thing I despise even more than public restrooms, AND holding up thong underware in Express and hollering, “Mommie, what’s this?!” I HAD HAD IT!!! And this was all in – say – a span of an hour. Good news is that the announcement was made at 8:45 that the mall would be closing, so she and I headed back to Sears to meet up with Wayne, who was MIA. No answer on his cell phone. So I proceeded to sit on a treadmill – yes, sit - by the doors at Sears and wait. All of a sudden, I see my UPS man coming down the aisle carrying a stack of beautifully wrapped presents and I know that he’s really been shopping! I even get a little giddy. That is, until Alise knocks over my diet coke from running in the store and I remember that no pretty wrapping paper is worth explaining thong underware to a 4 year old and we high-tail-it out the door! Whew!
So now we actually have a few presents under our tree. Yes, they are all mine for now, but I am hoping that just seeing them there will inspire me enough to breakout my own ribbon and wrapping paper this weekend and try some “professional wrapping” myself, but I’m not holding my breath. Me and pinecones don’t mix.