I love surprises. Not the pop-out-from-behind-the-sofa kind of surprises, but the what’s-in-that-gift-box type surprises. I love giving surprises, I love getting surprises, but unfortunately Luke and I seem to be accidental surprise-killers. He can guess with one little shake what’s in the carefully-wrapped package I give to him, and if I see a gift for me under the tree, I obsessively stare at it and consider its size and think of what could possibly be in there. By Christmas, I usually know.
There have been a few occasions where I was surprised by my gifts. The Christmas Luke bought me Angelina (that’s my Kitchen Aid mixer), for one. I never in a million years would have expected a Kitchen Aid mixer, so I couldn’t have possibly guessed that it would be in the big box under the tree. He’s also smartened up and started hiding gifts. One year he hid gift certificates in the Christmas tree, and twice he’s pulled wrapped packages from between the couch cushions to toss in my direction. The year he surprised me with an iPod, I was so shocked, I said something unfit to write here since my mom is reading, which he threatened to have engraved on the iPod so I wouldn’t ever forget how much he surprised me.
But this year… well this year there are packages under the tree that I have not wrapped, leading me to believe that they are for me. And they are torturing me. I have to physically restrain myself from looking at them. I am DETERMINED to be surprised! I want to cover them with other presents so I can’t look a them, but I’d have to look at them in order to know that I’m covering them. I tried tossing a recently wrapped gift in the direction of the mystery packages, but I missed and they’re still there. CALLING TO ME. I need to stop, I want to be surprised. Thank goodness there’s only another week until Christmas or I might just have a present breakdown.
Um… by the way. One more week?? That’s it? How did this happen?