No, I’m not referring to that Europe song. Although, to be fair, the song is probably more entertaining than this post will be.

It’s the week before Christmas and all through the lair, Loba has been scurrying about, trying to finish her Loba-mas shopping. I thought I was pretty well off and so, like the lazy little hare, I shuffled off to the side of the road to nap a little. Now the holidays have engulfed me with all their slow, deliberate, turtley inevitability and I’m left with the ticking of the clock echoing loudly in my head (although that might just be the natural echo from all that space between my ears).

I’m horrible at gift giving.

Okay, maybe not that horrible. I do get a bit anxious, however, regarding what to give people. I’m not even sure why. But I stress over presents like Lady GaGa stresses over someone catching a glimpse of her special holiday “package.”

[I’m sorry, Marius. That just slipped out. Blame weathereye.]

Gift giving should be more enjoyable, right? I’d love to blame the stress on the current societal attitude toward the importance of materialism, but really it comes down to me being insecure about my gift choices. I always think that the things that I pick for people are lame. Which I know on some level that they’re not. It’s not like I’m giving out the Clapper for Christmas.

The Clapper, people. Not the Clap. Bunch of perverts.

I just need to relax a bit. Breathe deeply a few times and remind myself of the one undeniable truth: If all other ideas fail, alcohol is always a great answer. Not as a gift. Just for me. 😉

Anyway, since you lasted this long, I might as well grant you this payoff. Enjoy!