So every year it’s the same thing. I put together my list for Santa. I weed through everything, prioritizing what I want most and then just ’cause I’m a giver like that, I whittle it down to one thing. The same thing. Every single year. And every year Santa lets me down. Now I don’t know if Santa has been drinking more this year than usual (I know I certainly have, but that’s neither here nor there), but I’m not appreciating his sense of humor. Okay, so each and every year I ask for a man. The size, shape, style and ‘package’ may differ from year to year, but the basic concept is the same. A man who pretty much worships the ground that I walk on. Not too much to ask, is it?
Apparently Santa thought he’d throw me a bone this year by delivering a man on my doorstep. Along with his dog. To camp out in my guest room for an indefinite amount of time. Super. Yeah sure, I guess I had something to do with the brain fart that resulted in me blurting ‘sure you can stay with me’ when asked if I could put him up for a couple of days. Yeah, uh, days have turned into weeks and the dog is a big ole’ surprise. He’s on his way over now. Not sure how I get myself into these things. Not sure how I can get myself out of this. Pretty sure I won’t. I don’t want to hurt his feelings. So it looks like I’m having a house guest for a while. G-d help me.
Oh, you want to know who it is? Guess you’ll have to read back to refresh your memory of ………………. Finger Foods! Holy hell.