Christmas
Sure, I am can be cranky and cynical and ironic and grumpy and curmudgeonly and apathetic and snotty and po-mo wannabe and surly and all those things, but I like Christmas.
Sorry, people, but I do.
Sue me.
Now, I am not the most religious puppy in the kennel and am not pretending to be someone who is wishing Baby Jeebus © happy birthday as I unwrap the J. Crew sweater from my mom... but, I can totally get into making goofy gifts, and sending out cards, and trimming a tree, and over buying gifts for my loved ones.
A Very Special Robutt
If I had the time and money, I'd fly all the robot folks somewhere. Maybe like a ski lodge or something along those snowy lines. There'd be a big tree and big slow moving dogs sleeping next to the fire in the fireplace.
And I would of commissioned Liz to knit a dozen or so robot sweaters.
I also imagine there'd be some cream whiskey, too.
Everyone's room would have big beds with comforters that were a bit too plush and fluffy. We'd spend the day sledding down hills and screaming our heads off. The dogs might be chasing us the whole time trying to take our hats off.
My friend George would show up with a batch of his late mother's wonderful 'russian tea' recipe to warm everyone up.
We would come in for a big dinner and have plans for all night partying, but then find everyone passed out at 10pm.
Nate would tell funny stories after dinner.
Did I mention cream whisky? That's what I would have. I suspect one of the dogs would lick my glass clean if I left it on the coffee table.
To sum up
Oh, but, yea, I like Christmas. I like giving people shiny gifts.
I am going to send out some robot do-dads to the robot folks, but I may wait until after Christmas so I can tally up my Amazon referrer fee things. So sit tight and make sure your wish-list and address is up to date.
