So, even though I’m a heathen and we’re almost flat broke and our parents said “No Christmas presents” and the Butcher doesn’t have a job and paw’s run off and I’m real sick and the baby’s gonna starve to death, a girl’s still got to buy some Christmas presents anyway.
For the recalcitrant brother–jack shit. Which he will be relieved by because he’s not getting me jack shit either.
For the Butcher–opuntia ficus-indica seeds. I may have to cultivate them for him as he has never been able to grow cactus from seeds, but opuntia can grow outside here, which makes it a cool cactus in my book. Did I ever tell you about the huge opuntia growing along the fence of the church-yard which turns out to hold the remains of Robert Johnson? And you know what I say, good enough for Robert Johnson, good enough for me.
For the nephews–they’re all getting books on paper-airplane making. I will leave it to their own imaginations to figure out how to make said airplanes lethal.
For Mom–a stuffed frog for her collection. I now understand why people collect things: as a kindness for people who are obliged to give them gifts and have no idea what to get them.
For Dad–a thing called a thumb-piano. I don’t know, but it looked like something he’d have a good time with.
So, hurray! That’s done.