"Imagine, if you will, a one-eyed mouse...weeping."

This time tomorrow, blizzard permitting, I will be back on the other side of the Atlantic, taking a walk on the beach with my family. The current weather may paint this in a bleak light, but I am more excited than I can say.

Not surprising, considering that this past week our house and lives were invaded by a horrifying being. Think the Slender Man, but French. She shook my core belief that all people are fundamentally good.

That was, of course, until my friends intervened. Or, rather, one friend.

I know that this will make two out of my meager seven entries about Secret Santas, but I don't give a fuuuuuuck.

I think I might have freaked her out with all my rantings and ravings about how amazing my package was. All the time. Plus, I never took the scarf off. But, my God.

Tom Waits collected interviews and Tommy Tiernan's first DVD? You've got to be shitting me. No. No shit indeed.

This also makes me think that Thomas is a good name. Keep that in mind, folks.

And, while we're at it, let's have Mr. Snuggles pose with the Karma soap. Because he wears a bathrobe and I have no shame.

Everything came with little notes attached that deepened their tenderness a million-fold. Wild ejaculations and animated hand gestures were not even enough to convey my joy. There was hugging, too.

Then, after we'd spent twenty-four hours in the library to finish our essays, there was lunch. We split a pizza. I was not nearly coherent enough to make any food decisions, so she ordered. I noticed later that she was picking off the pineapple (we got Hawaiian).

"Why did you order Hawaiian pizza if you don't like pineapple?"

"Because you like pineapple."

Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I almost cried.

I cannot list the ways in which I am happy or thankful to be so blessed.

Fuck yes, Christmastime.

My only problem now is that I'm still writing my second essay and Mr. Waits' wisdom is far more appealing than Tennyson's sorrow.