I have become that cliche where I genuinely look forward to getting socks under the tree on Christmas morning.
I’m a grown ass man who can at any point in any day decide to get in my automobile and go to any store and buy a mountain of socks, or order a pallet of socks to be drop-shipped to the door of my grown up house on a whim.
But I prefer to suffer holy toes and see through heels in anticipation of starting fresh on Christmas morn.
When I realized this in my soul, I was no longer a child.
But which of my 300 “few minute chores” do I start with?