Internet, I can always think of about 175433167897655621 things I want. Until someone asks me that question. Then my mind goes completely, utterly blank. I end up saying something like, "oh, I don't really need anything," or, "nothing! Just your company is enough."
These are lies.
I loooooove presents. Love them. I love seeing them in a big pile, waiting for me to open them. Love trying to guess what they are. Love, love, love that moment between tearing open the box and getting the first glimpse of what's inside (By the way, expensive wrapping jobs? Are wasted on me).
It doesn't matter if it's a diamond necklace (not that I've ever gotten one) or a bar of chocolate — I just love getting stuff.
So here's a completely random list of the things I'd love to find inside those shiny boxes.
This purse from Hypernoodle, a fantastic designer I found on Etsy.
Or maybe this one from Pesky Cat Designs, another Etsy find.
Of course, purses these cool deserve to be filled with fancy gadgets. So I need one of these (that's an iPod Touch, for those of you who have been living under a rock).
Or maybe one of those fancy electronic book reading devices (a whole bookstore at my fingertips? Dangerous).
Maybe you'd rather adorn my pretty neck with this necklace from The Vintage Pearl.
And purchase this ensemble from My Black Dress to go with it.
And since glamorous clothes like these deserve to be donned in equally swank surroundings, I'd like this bathroom, please:
Preferably inside the new home that was just purchased for me on this private island in Fiji:
Or, if that's too much, perhaps you could just send me on vacation to this beautiful villa on St. Thomas.
No? How about that bar of chocolate, then? Some flowers? Heck, an e-card would be nice. Or, you know, you don't have to get me anything at all. Just your company is enough...
Unless you're my husband. After the recent Mother's Day debacle (he knows what I'm talking about), I'm never pretending to not want anything ever again. It's better for the health of our marriage if I just admit to my rampant materialism. Right, honey?