This never used to happen in my old neighborhood…but when my wife and I moved house about three years ago, we unknowingly moved into the KINDEST NEIGHBORHOOD IN THE WORLD.
And now, every Christmas, we are deluged with home-baked snacks and Christmas pies. To an unbelievable degree, though: it’s like they’re busing in people from other neighborhoods, miles away, just to give us Christmas sugar cookies. I don’t know where they all come from.
And after a while, our pre-prepared plates of goodies are gone, and I’m left with this sample dialogue:
Suzette (a “neighbor” from ten blocks down): HI! Just wanted to give you a little something and say Merry Christmas!
Me: Wow. That looks amazing. What is that?
Suzette: Well, there are some cookies on there, some rum cakes, and a pan-seared Bolivian Christmas souffle made with ostrich eggs.
Me: Um, wow. Have we even met before?
Suzette: Not that I’m aware. Merry Christmas!
Me: Hold on….let me…um…get your gift.
[Uncomfortably long rustling behind a half-closed door]
Me: Here you go! Nutter-Butters! Now they’re, um, made with real peanut butter! Apparently.
Suzette (not mad at all): Wow! Merry Christmas!
…so to Suzette, and the 47 other neighbors I disappointed today, let me say a genuine “Merry Christmas”!
And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a Bolivian souffle to eat.