dixiblog

 Christmas time around here is funny. Not funny-weird; funny-haha. As in a certain stinker-person in the house Loooooovvvvvvvveessss Christmas so much, she can barely wait to get her presents. Few things are as amusing as taunting the kid’s ass off.

There are gonna be some old favorites this year, and some surprises, I think. But that’s not the point; the point is, it drives the kids nuts not to know.

Stinker has found out I’m giving her some candy. I admitted this, knowing that I put candy in the stockings every year. So it’s not like it’s a revelation.

“What kind is it, Mom?” she asks.

“I’m not telling you. It’s a surprise! It’s a Christmas surprise!”

“Noooooooooo! What? It’s not a Christmas surprise. I already know you’re getting me candy. Why not tell me what kind? What harm is there in that?”

“I don’t want to.” That’s not so hard to figure out. As in, I never fuckin’ tell ‘em what I got ‘em for Christmas.

“I really don’t care anyway,” she says, knowing that I know how full of shit she is. “I’ve outgrown that.”

“Well, good! Then it isn’t an issue.”

“Agggggggggh! Mom, I could slap you right about now. Why? Why? Why won’t you tell me?”

“I told you. Number 1, I don’t want to. I never tell you what your presents are in advance. And number 2, it’s fun to torture you.” I’m laughing it up, man.

“What if I guess it? Skittles? M & Ms?”

“No dice.”

“Does it start with an M?”

“I’m not gonna tell you.”

“Does that mean I’d know what it is? Would I know what it is? Are you giving [Monkey] the same thing? Is it the same? Is it those little Christmas things? Is it chocolate? ”

I didn’t tell her anything else. But she was really inventive trying to think up ways to get information. It was funny. At least, I was rollin’. She did some cussing, as I recall.

And Stinker–if you’re reading this, in answer to your question: No, the candy cane picture does not mean you’re getting candy canes. It has no significane whatsoever other than to give you something else to talk about in therapy someday.