As part of my continuing efforts to drag myself into the 21st Century, I have unwittingly found myself playing a dangerous new game for the first time this year. I think I'll call it Holiday Roulette. The way you play is simple. In the days and weeks (and, in one case, months) before the Holidays, you attempt to do as much of your Christmas shopping as possible online for a change. You scour the various websites diligently for days, seeking out exactly the right gifts for those near and dear to you. You then order said DVDs and books and whatnot from reputable dealers all over the Internet. You pay sometimes exorbitant rates to make certain your precious packages will be delivered by December 22nd at the latest, as promised, and then you neurotically spend the next several weeks checking your mailbox every few hours in the perhaps futile hope that the gifts will actually show up on time.
As I type this, it is now officially December 22nd, and at least half a dozen of the presents I ordered have yet to arrive. I've received notices from each and every one of the sellers telling me my merchandise has indeed been shipped, so where the heck is it?
Granted, it'll be a darn sight easier for me to wrap those tiny IOUs than the presents themselves, but it's the principle of the thing, dammit. One should not have to trade the crush, bustle and claustrophobia of the Mall for the nail-biting suspense of the Mail and dealing with UPS, FedEx, and the U.S. Postal Service.
If the packages don't arrive by Saturday, I'm gonna have to put on my Kevlar undies Sunday and brave the madness of the Mall. So, if I haven't blogged here again by Monday, would somebody please do me the kindness of searching for my body under the remains of the giant Christmas tree at the Topanga Promenade?
And, for the love of God, please don't giftwrap me before you bury me.