'Tis better to give than receive, or that's what I've been told anyway

Alternatively titled, I am a greedy, self-centered bitch

Each year, dh asks for my Christmas list. Yeah, it's kind of nostalgic, like when I was a greedy child writing a letter to santa, rather than a greedy adult emailing my wants to my dh. But it also kind of pisses me off that the man lives with me every goddamned day and still seems completely thunderstruck by the items on my list. I mean, like he totally has no clue the stuff I like. And for some reason that pisses me off while I am making a list of potential gifts for myself. And don't say that I should just not make a list and see what he comes up with because I've been down that road and there are no fucking presents at the end of it. Yes, you read that right. If I don't tell him exactly what to buy, then he will not buy me anyfuckingthing. So now you better understand why the whole Christmas list pisses me off, yes? Yes. Yes? Good.

I know, I am such a bitch. I try to work through this on my own time. This year, for something completely different, I thought I'd share with you:

3 things that aren't on my Christmas list

Can we talk about this? Oh, we can? All right, then. Good. Now, I know the first thing that comes to mind is: "wow, what an amazing job of totally obliviating the nipples through airbrushing" so as not to offend the delicate sensibilities of those of us perusing the Vicky's Secret catty. Yes, the airbrushing is premium quality, that stuff. Let's disregard the fact that the only place I could wear this would be the stripper pole. Somehow, I just can't see the girls hanging out in this little gem, pun intended. They're rather free-form, since weight loss and pregnancy. It just wouldn't be pretty. So I don't want this at all. So don't go to any trouble on my account, k?

And we should talk about this, too? Because I don't want this either. For reasons that I can't articulate well at all because of the disgusting mental images conjured up by the concept of a 10-year-old grilled cheese. Other random musings inspired by decade-old grilled cheese--Doesn't she wonder what other potential images could've been embedded in the rich tapestry of half-sandwich she ate? And must note the amazing preservative properties of plastic box/cotton balls. Look out seal-a-meal.

And also we need to spend a moment on this. I sooooo don't desire monogrammed crapper paper. Because you just know that DH would totally wipe his ass with my designated paper, which would just cause a stupid fight and for what? And what of that nagging fear of monogram ink-streaks on my ass? I mean, sure the shit is gone, but what if traces of ink remain? What good is that? So again, not on my list.

I am so hard to buy for. I am sure, gentle reader, that you can see why I have to make the list. What's that you say? You say you're thinking that you can't believe that anyone buys me anything at all since I'm such a whiney ungrateful wretch? Oh.