Merry Christmas to me!

I must have been good this year because I got three, count ‘em – 3 – presents from my work. Nobody can say that the National Restaurants Association is niggardly. The first gift is a fire engine red fleece that says Colorado on it, but you know it was made in China. When I proudly sport this jacket with NRA emblazoned on the front, people might wonder if I’m a gun activist, and that will spur lively conversations, I’m sure. So, you can see why I value it as the gift that keeps giving. The second and third gifts of sound advice and comfort were haphazardly given I suppose, but are no lesser in value. Upon discovering that I had no children and was not dating anybody, the receptionist counseled me to throw back my head and arms and yell “God, Merry Christmas to me!” (apparently because there is nobody in my life who will wish me Merry Christmas besides yours truly). After this outbreak, I should without delay run to the store and buy myself that “something” I have always wanted. Upon rewarding myself with my own present, I should again break out in exultations, yelling “Merry Christmas to me, Merry Christmas to me!” She comforted me, assuring me that if she were single, it was most certainly what she would do. This seemingly simple advice proffered by my receptionist ensures that I will never spend a Christmas in a boring or lonely manner. The receptionist’s last gift was evoked, I believe, by her piteous feelings toward me due to my lack of marriage prospects. Mind you, this is a 50 year old non-Mormon woman who is baffled over my single status. She comforted me by telling me that she did not find her “special person” until she was 35. She reminded me that I don’t have to stand looking a boy over all day to tell if he was honorable; it only takes moments. Here’s the clincher: If you find that a boy is not honorable, NEVER look into his eyes. That’s how they get you, evidently. According to the receptionist, there are very few honorable boys out there, so it looks like I’m going to have to avoid a whole lot of boys’ eyes from here on out. But, one day, I will find my “special person.” I know because the receptionist told me so. What priceless gifts.