File this one under “don’t even ask.”
This afternoon, my husband Marc and I had our annual office Christmas party. It’s something we always look forward to and as I am the owner of my own free-lance writing business and he is my IT department, we never even have to make a reservation for the two of us.
Each year the two of us have a Yankee Swap, the biggest surprise is who will pull that coveted Number 1 position.
This year it belonged to Marc. He opened the gift I supplied of spicy wine from Chili, cheese in a can (a left-over love from childhood) and some dark chocolate. All things that I knew he would enjoy.
Then it was my time. Half of his Yankee swap gift was a bottle of mead. Nice, but I’m not the mead drinker in the house, Marc is. The other half of the gift was a set of 4 wine glasses in a box. Nothing exciting but still nice – I suppose. (It kind of felt like getting a toaster for Christmas, yeah it’s nice but it ‘ain’t anything to write home about.)
Still, a gift is a gift. I thanked him.
Marc told me to take a closer look at the glasses. Yeah I get it. They’re nice.
He then told me to really look at *all* the glasses and that’s when I discovered that the bottom half of the box was filled with something called Shopkins.
I think that everyone in the restaurant heard me squeal. I LOVE tiny toys (they will all look so nice, along with my Lego mama hen in my tiny house someday.) One of my prized possessions (so prized that my daughters have never been allowed to play with them) are the troll dolls of my youth. Forget Barbie, give me some trolls, pebbles for chairs, some twigs to build tables, and you’ll only see me when the dinner bell rings.
And now I have little friends for my trolls. Little bits of anthropomorphized cake, salt, milk, fruit, lip balm, and yes, even an egg.
Best Yankee Swap ever. I’m definitely not swapping this one.
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Wendy Thomas writes about the lessons learned while raising children and chickens in New Hampshire. Contact her at [email protected]
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