'Twas the nicht before Christmas

[owl]

My baby brother, having been unable to choose a present is getting £10 from me. Frankly, it's so much easier; I didn't have to find anything, and he can spend the loot on whatsoever he desires, or shove it in the bank if Scroogely inclined. And think how I save in wrapping paper: I rolled it into a cigarette shape, got my sister to hold it, and round-turn-and-two-half-hitched a label to it with sparkly string.

I wish people would do the same for me. My ideal present always was and always will be a sheaf of book tokens. (Purple glitter lipstick? Pah! Sensible wooly socks, huh!) But at various times my dad has threatened to make room for my books in the house by throwing me out of it, so he'd never let that happen.

Naomi is playing me the Star Wars theme on the piano as a Christmas treat, as she doesn't like it and I do.

I just remembered the socks we used to hang up when we were small. Natch, we chose the ones with bells on, so that when an exhausted parent staggered into our bedroom at 3am, laden with chocolates, miniature teddy bears and new pound coins, we woould waken to investigate the full sock. We were horrible infants.

My loving syblings informed me, while watching Give My Head Peace tonight (Northern Irish comedy program, correctly pronounced Gima Hed Pace—doyle_sb4 will know what I'm on about) that I laugh like a swan. Actually it's quite normal up to a certain point of amusement, whereat I emit helpless whooping noises and quite likely choke.

Comments

[ravenclaw-devi.livejournal.com]

*chuckles*

My ideal present always was and always will be a sheaf of book tokens.

Mine, too. Well, that, or a Toys'R'Us gift certificate (to be redeemed for Transformers, natch *g*).