Less than a week to go until Christmas, and I'm finding it next to impossible to concentrate at the office. As immature as this might sound, all I want to do is get presents. Sure I like to give, but I'd be a bold-faced liar if I didn't admit my true preference--which obviously falls on the receiving end of the spectrum.
Jared caved to temptation early this year and let me open my big Christmas present (All Hail The Holy Bread Maker) last week. I screamed, I jumped, we hugged, and within 58 minutes we had a perfect loaf of oatmeal bread to fill the collective void in our lives.
I just love Christmas.
I let Jared have his present last week, too. For all of your country folk out there, I bought my husband a Ruger Red Label Double Barrel Over Under 12-Gauge. In other words, I bought my husband a shot gun--which bears a striking resemblance to Elmer Fudd's.
Please don't hyperventilate. This gun of his has a trigger lock, a barrel lock, and two different padlocks on the case. It stays on the top shelf of a locked closet, and the ammunition is kept in a combination safe. And to put a cherry on top of the gun-safety sundae, all of the keys are in Jared's desk drawer. At his office.
Trust me, it's the plugged-in power tools that we should all be losing sleep over.
If Jared's gun still makes you wary of juvenile play dates at Chez Lawson, then I ask you this: Where do you live, and for how many hours can James stay at your house?
Really folks, this thing will do me absolutely no good against a burglar or an escaped circus lion--I'll just have to handle those type of threats with my brute strength and bare hands thankyouverymuch.
As you might imagine, Jared has been loving his gift far more than he's ever loved his wife--it's quite obvious. Several times a week, my husband will brave the wind, cold, and snow, just to get his jollies blasting skeet at the public shooting range (yes, we have those here in Maine). Trust me guys, he would never dream of "frolicking" with me in a snowbank. Ne. Ver.
But it's fine, I have fifty loaves of rye bread to keep me company. And they wear their butter so well. Sooooo well.