When I grow up...
I want to be one of those people who doesn't care what others think of me. If I didn't care what others think of me, yesterday would've been much easier.

We exchanged Secret Santa gifts at the office after our holiday luncheon yesterday. There was a ten dollar price limit imposed, but no other "guidelines" were brought forward. For my colleague, I purchased a tiny "Every Wonderful Thing Every Wonderful Woman Needs to Know" - a jokey little tome filled with tips such as "never ask your husband if you look fat." I wrapped it up beautifully, and added it to the pile of presents in the boardroom.

What did Secret Santa get for Crabby? A (used) gift bag with a bunch of plastic crap at the bottom of it. No tissue paper, no wrapping, just a pile of plastic jewellery - but not just any plastic jewellery. Secret Santa gave me a crappy plastic crown, a crappy plastic bracelet that might fit a two-year-old's wrist, a crappy plastic wand, and a crappy plastic necklace, each dotted with gawdy plastic "jewels".

"Should I be offended?" I asked Mr. Crabby last night. "Does someone think I'm a princess?"

"Hell, yeah," he answered. "What a crappy thing to give somebody." Crappy Crappy Crappy. What do you think?

In other news, my week-long blog hiatus has ended. I haven't had much to say - or have been too busy to say anything for days and days. But here's one thought that I wanted to share with you...

If I were in any way inclined to cheat on my husband, which I am certainly not (I love my Mr. Crabby dearly), I would most likely have an affair with a hot dog vendor. Executives in suits are way sexxxxxy, but there's nothing that turns me on more than the smell of bbq on a man. I'd never, ever, eat what they're sellin', but I love the way they're smellin'...