The Meaning of Christmas

Christmas is a time for family and cheer and pondering the birth of our sweet lord and savior, Baby Jesus. But more important than all of these things is the feeling I get after a long day of relatives and gift opening: a crack rush at the thought of the sales to come.

My brothers, silly fools that they are, are still inspecting their haul, trying on shirts and counting money. Apparently they fail to realize that it's midnight-ish in Chicago and wiser clothes whores are already Sak.com-ing. So let them organazie waffle weave t-shirts and cashmere sweaters, I'm trolling for 75% off Louboutins and Chloe jackets, itching for my next fix.

There was some confusion on the part of a few family members who thought my semi-crippled status would keep me from attending the revered Saks sale at 8.30. It's sad to see that, 20 years in, they still don't know me at all. The very thought of doing some online manic-purchasing and calling it a day is unacceptable even in this drug-induced state of calm resignation.

You see, this early am e-shopping is a shopaholic's version of pre-gaming: it leaves me ready for the extreme binging to come but not incapacititated and lying in a puddle of my own sick. That'll happen tomorrow.