Even if I weren’t still fuming over losing the bald-eagle-imprinted fuzzy blanket in a conniving game of white elephant, I would say this whole gift exchange thing doesn’t do much for me. I am no Scrooge. I love the holidays. I celebrate as hard as anyone — blacking out at the company party, getting fatter and jollier by 15-20 percent over four weeks, and pumping my fist when TBS airs the “Saved by the Bell” Christmas episode when Zack romances the homeless girl.
'Tis Better to Not
'Tis Better to Not
'Tis Better to Not
Even if I weren’t still fuming over losing the bald-eagle-imprinted fuzzy blanket in a conniving game of white elephant, I would say this whole gift exchange thing doesn’t do much for me. I am no Scrooge. I love the holidays. I celebrate as hard as anyone — blacking out at the company party, getting fatter and jollier by 15-20 percent over four weeks, and pumping my fist when TBS airs the “Saved by the Bell” Christmas episode when Zack romances the homeless girl.