Because I only hinted at it yesterday, here's a gift for you: Too much information!
First of all, if you're reading this on Christmas morning, you've got serious problems. Take the serious problem of anti-Semitism, for example. Hate crimes still terrorize the innocent, and I for one deplore all kinds of prejudice, my dear Jewish readers with nothing better to do on a regular Sunday morning. Be strong.
If you're a Christian, however, you probably spent the morning opening presents—or even if you're half-Jewish, like a girl I dated in university, for that matter. Presents are presents. Everybody loves getting them, whatever the occasion or excuse. Well, usually, anyway. I didn't really love the Christmas present I got from that girl's parents. It was just kind of awkward.
We'd been dating about three months then. We were sitting around the tree, opening gifts. "Here's yours," her dad said, handing me a package. I opened it. It was a package of flannel sheets.
"Kristen says your place isn't very warm at night," her mom said with a little smile.
They could have got me some warm pyjamas or a space heater. But they had to smirk and give me a set of flannel sheets. They might as well have said, "Here's something comfortable to fuck our daughter on."