That’s another BBC headline.
 
I am at my parents’ house doing laundry and they have left for Bingo. Mom made sure to threaten me with torture if I opened any of my Christmas presents, which are sitting temptingly under the tree. How old does she think I am? 22?
I have matured much since my days of sneaking presents into my room, unwrapping them, rewrapping them and then sneaking them back under the tree. I can’t explain it sufficiently (I don’t think I’m doing a sufficient job because when I explain this habit to others, they continue to think I’m crazy), but I can’t stand surprises. It’s fine if I don’t know a surprise is coming, but when you tell me you have a surprise for me and then won’t tell me what it is or give it to me immediately, I get a little obsessed.
Mom and Dad took to locking our presents in a padlocked closet. That’s not going to stop us, especially after we find the key to the padlock in mom’s jewelry box.
But I’m not going to unwrap those presents. I am an adult now, you know. But I think I will eat all the toffee brittle, just to spite her.
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