I've been meaning to tell you this for a while, but for the last few months I've been writing a column on online culture for a paper back in Charleston. The column is called The Weekly Geekly and you will remember that this very site was, at one point, featured in it, and the timing was awful because not only had I just had a fight with a man in a Wal-Mart parking lot, but then I'd gone right out and picked up some second-hand lawn furniture from the side of the road.
There appears to be an advent calendar thief in my house. I have questioned every member of my family very sternly and all have denied opening doors number 16, 19, and 22---we haven't even had the 22nd yet!---and eating the small morsel of Cadburys chocolate inside. Thus, it remains a mystery. I have started suspecting everyone, casting my mind back to recall who might have entered the house, opened the refrigerator, and pilfered the one small joy in my life while I wasn't looking. No-one is safe. Was it the gardener?
This morning I spent a good five minutes looking for the door to number six on my advent calendar, cursing Cadburys for their shoddy advent calendar-making and fuming about what exactly they had against the number six (was it something to do with 666, I pondered?) before realizing that ah! Of course! Silly me! I'd already opened door number six yesterday, and today was in fact December 7th.