Storytime.

So.

It's time for warm, fuzzy, holiday memories again. Of course, they could just be warm and fuzzy because of the Vodka, but I'll never tell...

This is the week that used to be sheer torture when my brother and I were younger. You'd still have school to go to, but everyone was just totally ramped up because- Dude. Big fat man was coming, and he'd bring Candy. And presents. And STUFF! NEW STUFF. For you to play with! Aaaah! Stuff! So we devised our own ways to get through the final countdown.

My favorite (which just popped into my head a few days ago) was playing "Santa". Odie and I would take turns "Hanging our stockings" and then "going to sleep" on the couch, while the other would gather up a whole bunch of random stuff from our toybox and elsewhere, and put it in the stocking. Then the "sleeper" would get up and discover their new loot. Heh.

Good times.

I was also a master snooper as a kid- knew how to break into almost any box, discern its contents, and cover up my tracks. I knew all the hiding places, and generally speaking, knew exactly what everyone was getting well in advance of the big day. I've actually been very well behaved in recent years (ok, starting last year), and haven't peeked yet. Though I did accidentally see that I'm getting a kitchen scale. (YES!)

The only time I totally got busted was when I was about 6- I snooped and discovered a pair of pink scuff slippers under the tree for me. And of course, on Christmas morning, you have to do the "shake it and guess what it is" thing- well, at the age of 6 I hadn't totally honed my "lie with a straight face" gig, and said "hmmmmm it sounds liiiiike.... Slippers!" And got bitched at. Heh.

Didn't deter me, though.