I've been on a massive anti-housecrap crusade over the last few months, and as such, my Christmas dreams involve more space and less clutter. So my Christmas wish list is rather sparse this year. And it's VERY practical. To wit:
1) Socks. Really. My gym socks all have holes in the toes and droopy-ass elastic around the tops. And as my office gets less and less business casual and more and more plain-old casual, I find I need more dark cottony socks that look good with jeans and funky shoes. Aren't you glad you know this?
2) A new frying pan. I'm nobody's cook, but I make lots of egg-white omelets—and I've managed to scrape off the vast majority of the non-stick stuff in my only pan. So I need a new one.
3) A new cake pan. Not that I make cakes much at all, but the pan I have—a metal one that my grandmother had filled with baked goodness almost weekly from the 1950s until she died in the 1980s—is starting to leech off a metallic taste into everything baked in it. The thing is 50 years old. It's time.
4) A bigger condo with a washer and dryer and a second bedroom and a balcony. But I want to pick it out, so don't get me one.
5) A boyfriend. I'm partial to blonds, but that's not a requirement. Again, I'd rather pick mine out—if you don't mind—so don't get me one.
And that's about it. Except for one more thing. I want to make sure each and every one of you, my beloved readers, takes a moment to enjoy this: