J picked out gifts for me to open and vice versa.
I tore into the fuzzy black slippers and now I oddly feel like I am wearing my cats on my feet. Meow.
J's very much enjoyed the GI Joes I got him, the desert soldier in particular. Little does he know what the future potentially holds. Ex thought he would hear back from his high powered friend on Friday, didn't, and wonders if the friend is trying to spare his Xmas.
Another gift J had me open was a heavy, tiny box. It felt like a dense bar of soap; I absolutely love smelly bars of soap. As I was slashing though the paper, I saw "Pour Homme" written on the box and almost laughed, but restrained myself. Ex (or his wife, I think, was in charge of this) always lets J pick gifts without guidance, whereas I steer or just go ahead and pick for him. Ex's system is how I got the four foot tall wooden giraffe a few years ago, J insisting that I collect giraffes and ex knowing that my sister is the one.
When J saw the bottle, he got disappointed on his own, lamenting, "That's cologne, isn't it, Mom." I smiled and showed him the "Pour Homme" on the box and said it's no wonder, because he doesn't speak French. I told him, however, that I often like colognes, how one of my favorite perfumes I wear is actually a unisex cologne. I love how fresh and clean they smell, reminding me of a man being around.
Thanks, Celine. Yours passes muster. It works for both of us.