At least, that's what Starbucks tells me. I love the Christmas season. I'm the freak who loves to be in the mall in December because seeing the stores all Christmasy makes me happy. I love the decorations. (I have Christmas lights up in my room I never take down. I don't call them Christmas lights and pretend it's not odd.) I love the songs. (Thank you, Sirius Satelite radio and your 24/7 Christmas station.) And I love, love, love the presents.
It's not even just the getting for me (and I say that as a deeply shallow, fairly self absorbed person). I love giving presents. I love shopping for people. Walking around, figuring out the perfect thing. I love the thought that other people are out there thinking the same things about me. Like, right now I have some cards in the mail. Just little cards. And I'm like, giddy waiting for them to get there. Hoping to brighten somebody's day. Like, there's a little piece of me, and a little bit of love from me, that's out there in the universe, traveling off to somebody else.
And that thought? Makes me so, so happy.
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