12.20.02 - 5:13 p.m.

" 'I think this calls for a drink' has long been one of our national slogans." -- James Thurber, whose incredibly non-witty book I had to read for my editing class at Medill

Dan tried to surprise me today with a bona fide copy of the La Boheme CD (presumably lifted from the entertainment editor), yet another way he shows his love by supporting things that he hates. Alas, that CD was one of the many I burned on my copying spree on Friday night. I'm keeping it, though - at least now I'll have portions of the translated libretto, which obviously didn't come with my burned CD, and it's prettier.

My hands smell like coffee. And the bathroom is oh so far away. Damn that stupid renovation!

So every year, Moom attempts to surprise me with lots of little gifts, despite knowing full well that I am a girl who hates surprises. I am also a girl who does not wait until my birthday, or Christmas, or whatever holiday that makes gifts come in the mail for me, but opens them right away. This year she sent presents for both Dan and I to our work address, and though Dan convinced me to hold off on opening most of them here, there was one lumpy, crunchy present whose paper was badly torn. I could see that it was a bag of pretzels (yes, these are moom-type gifts) and felt no compunction about ripping it the rest of the way.

Then I discovered that pretzels weren't the only thing inside the wrapping: a glass jar of bourbon mustard rode shotgun inside the wrapping. Dan hates mustard. Especially mustard which has an expiration date of 10/10/02.

This is why money is the best gift of all - because even with the best intentions, something is bound to be just a little wrong.

I'm eating the mustard as I write, by the way.