PAT THE TUNA
I am so proud of me. First of all, I think (THINK, mind you) that my shopping is completed. I just hope I don't wake up out of a dead sleep at 5:00 am tomorrow morning in a panic when I realize I've forgotten that special something for Aunt Gertrude.
Lucky for me, I don't have an Aunt Gertrude.
The best thing is that somehow I managed to remember to buy something for the afternoon "family service" tomorrow. There is nothing worse than running into a drug store at 3:57pm yelling, "I need diapers for the Baby Jesus!!!" It's like yelling "nails", except that nobody wants to help you in a drugstore unless you need hemorrhoid medicine.
Or so I might assume.
Last year I forgot the family service gift and was madly rummaging through my basement in the hopes of stumbling across something appropriate. I was this close (fingers smooooshed together) to giving the baby Jesus a beach ball. Pretty sweet, huh? I mean, even the Kings didn't think of anything that cool.
Of course, I thought better of my plan, and ran into the drugstore yelling, "diapers!"
This year, I am prepared. The baby Jesus will get a bib set and a cool Noah's ark squishy teething thing. Maybe I'll just hide the beach ball in the basket and call it Christmas.
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