On Christmas Eve an old lady approached my nephew in the supermarket, because he is two years old and cute and that is how old ladies deal with such situations. “Do you know who’s coming tonight?” she asked him.
“Aunt Kate!” he answered. Take that, fat man.
And from a week or two ago:
I’m not the greatest gift-wrapper. One year my church youth group worked on a charity drive at the mall, wherein shoppers gave a dollar to a soup kitchen and in return a grubby teenager would wrap their gifts. I spent the bulk of the afternoon wandering around the shops with my friends, buying Orange Juliuses and jingle-bell earrings. This was acceptable because our group leaders were open-minded Episcopalians, and because they had seen my gift-wrapping skills that were not worth a charity dollar. The Catholic youth group we worked with was pissed that we got away with it, but that was their own fault for picking a fire-and-brimstone God who smote the hands of the idle. And also for showcasing their abilities to wrap.
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