plastic

I love window shopping for Christmas presents on the internet.

Anything to avoid contact with real live people between the hours of 6am and 6pm makes me so happy and shiny inside that I could just burst. ATMs and automated customer service representatives are just heavenly and the fact that I only have to pay $5 three or four times a year for Old Navy to deliver every stitch of Jake's clothing to right under my desk at work is bliss. A lot of stores are doing in-store pickup as a free service now, so I can order everything online and run up to Walnut Street on my lunch break and everything will be boxed and bagged and ready to go for me when I get there and when eight people ask me if I can be helped I can just say that I have a bag waiting for me. I am seriously considering grocery delivery, I just have to figure out a time when one of us is guaranteed to be home to get the stuff. I think I'm available at precisely a quarter past never on Zerodays, but I have to check my planner before I commit to anything. But the thought of never smelling spoiled milk and rancid meat and my neighbor's colostomy bag at the Acme is very inviting.

I'm 98% sure of everyone's Christmas presents. Jake is getting this and this and some undershirts and a new pair of shoes and probably a few little cars and maybe some candy that will be immediately confiscated in his stocking. We agreed that Christmas presents won't be over the top with this kid because there is nothing worse than a spoiled rotten brat who cries because they didn't get enough under the tree. One or two big ones and a bunch of junk that he would have needed anyway will do, because there is nothing better than getting socks as a present.