Secrets Secrets

I've always stunk at secrets and surprises.  I can't say that I'm not trustworthy per se, but I have an accidental big mouth.  I've spilled so many beans on accident it is ridiculous.  To boot, I cannot handle surprises.  In fact, I always wait until the last minute to wrap Christmas and birthday presents.  Not necessarily because I'm lazy, but as soon as I open them, I want to give them to its recipient.  Last year when Patrick wasn't here to regulate, my kids opened nearly all of their Christmas presents early.  True story.

  My mom has known this from day one.  She and my Grandma can write shorthand, which is what Court reporters used to use prior to stenography machines.  (My grandmother was a legal secretary . . . just like me . . . and used to use shorthand to take notes at depositions and hearings.  She taught my mom.)  So she used to use shorthand to write out our Christmas lists so we couldn't peek.

 Also, I used to go on the hunt for my Christmas presents all the time.  One time, I found my sister, brother and I's big present--a VCR (how old does that make me?  Don't ask.).  But my dad found out.  And freaked and told us just to go ahead and have it.  He didn't wrap it or anything.  We didn't have anything to open.  That was the last time I sought out presents.

But . . . it wasn't the last time we cheated.  My sister and I got really good at opening our Santa gifts before my parents woke up by gently peeling off the tape and then putting it back on.  But one year, we got a Sega Genesis (dated again).  And my parents finally woke up so we could officially open our gifts.  And I blurted out "Mom, can I open the Sega?"  Woops.

Wine Colored Jeggings-Walmart; White Oversized Oxford Shirt-Walmart; Orange Tweed Blazer-J. Crew, thrifted; Cognac OTK Boots-Charlotte Russe; Necklaces and Earrings-vintage from Grandma; Sunnies-Target