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I hate presents.

I swear, though, that I have not always been such a Grinch. It hasn’t always been this way. I can distinctly remember a time when I was still Cindy-Lou Who. There was that glorious Christmas when all my presents had to do with the Nutcracker, marking my brain so indelibly that ambulance alarms in France sound to me like the opening notes of the Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy. When I was a kid, I counted down the days each May till my birthday, and when the big day finally arrived, I was astoundingly grateful for everything. (Well, that’s how I remember it, anyway.)…………………..Read the rest at I Hate Presents - Mockingbird (mbird.com)