dulce vanilla cologne, too, because it looks a lot like the bottle of dark vanilla I have, and I really like that. Oh, and a Love’s Baby Soft gift set – for myself, of course – because I wore it all through middle school and the very smell brings me back to my ill-spent youth. The problem with me is that I go shopping for presents for others, and end up buying just as much stuff for myself. Then I went to work and spent an hour online doing more Christmas shopping, and by God I’m about done. All I have to do is buy a bunch of little presents for the spud’s stocking, and Fred’s stocking. Oh, and presents for the kitties, of course, but I think they’ll take one look at our tree and consider that present enough. Last year once the Boys were done with the tree, half the lights were on the floor and the other half were twisted around the highest branches. We grew accustomed to hearing the nightyly bong-bong-bong-bong sound of ornaments bouncing down the stairs with the help of kitty paws. Which reminds me, for some reason, of when Spanky was about six months old. This was around Easter; he was walking along minding his own business, and I happened to glance down at him. He had three inches of Easter grass sticking out of his butt. "Fred!" I yelled, because have I mentioned how useless I am in a crisis? Fred came, assessed (get it? ASSessed? Heh) the situation, and grabbed the end of the grass. Spanky began walking away, then – apparently feeling the pull of the grass coming out – stopped and looked back at Fred as if to say, "What the hell are you doing?" He walked a bit further, then stopped and looked back again, puzzled. The wheels turned in his head as he thought to himself, "But they’re over there, and my butt’s over here. They can’t be doing that…" He walked a bit further, and the other end of the Easter grass came out. We put it back in the spud’s Easter basket and went about our business. Just kidding, of course. Don’t email me and tell me what a horrid mother I am. Also don’t email me and tell me how dangerous cellophane Easter grass is to cats, ’cause I already know. We only buy paper Easter grass now. I spent the day at work telling myself "I really need to pay those bills…Oh, just one more game of Snood!" Kymm was not kidding in the slightest when she spoke of it’s instantly addictive powers. I played, and played, and played. And want to know something lame? I was playing on the "easy" level! I tried "medium", but immediately ran away with my tail between my legs. Oh, how lame I am. ]]>
12/08/1999