I like to think that I am a good Secret Santa. I try to give thoughtful gifts that I think the person will enjoy. So far, I've baked cookies for my guy, and I gave him a pocket-sized moleskine-type notebook he can carry with him for when inspiration strikes (he's an English teacher--writer--theater guy). Heck, I even wrote poems to go with my gifts. Not necessarily good poems, mind you, but just a little something fun that he could laugh at. And mock. And use in his class as examples of how not to write poetry.
So, of course, I was excited to see what I would get this week from my Secret Santa.
On Tuesday, I get to work, and I find this in my chair:
Yep, it's a snake. A snake you put it water and it grows to 600% its size. Oh, but you have to leave it in water for 96 hours for it to get that big. Right. I can see it now..."Um, I'm sorry, honey, you can't take a bath for FOUR DAYS, because I'm trying to grow a snake in there." My favorite part, though, is the warning on the front in large letters: DO NOT SWALLOW! Come on...when you get a 12-inch long snake, isn't that the first instinct you have, to try to swallow it? I'm not even going to touch the double entendres there, either--you can do that yourself.
Then Wednesday arrives, and when I check my box in the teacher's lounge, I find:
A tarantula and a blood-shot eyeball! And they're gummy! And when you throw them against a wall, they stick and leave a trail of slime! Yippee!
Ok, so I'm beginning to think that:
a) My Secret Santa doesn't like me very much
b) My Secret Santa is a science teacher with an odd sense of humor
c) My Secret Santa thinks that I am actually a 12-year-old boy
or
d) My Secret Santa doesn't like me very much
Sigh. I'm almost afraid to see what my big gift on Friday is going to be...
No comments:
Post a Comment