It's Christmas morning, I run downstairs and I see it. Our very own kitchen set. Every Santa we have visited, every person who has asked my sister has given them the same answer.
What do you want for Christmas little girl?
A Donut...
There, in the refrigerator, two large Texas donuts. One for her, one for me. Our entire present seems based on her one request. Am I happy that we got a kitchen set, or sad because it seems as if she requested it?
Even now, I don't know the answer to that. I find it odd that my memory remembers that it was "her" present, even though it had both of our names on it. Her donut, her kitchen.
Tuesday, December 25, 1984
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