Naturally, the next consideration was: Did I want Sofia for Christmas? Wrapped in a bow. Under the tree. Telling me how frickin’ great I was.
No. Not really.
I’d liked her, sure. We’d been a good couple, insofar as that our friends—well, her friends more than mine—had created this mold of what a couple should be, and we fit into it just fine. We were the fourth couple tacked onto the quadruple date. We were good board game partners. We could text each other to sleep at night. She’d only been in New York for three years, so I got to explain all kinds of pop cultural references to her, while she’d tell me stories about Spain. We’d made it to third base, but got stuck there. Like we knew the catcher would tag us out if we tried to head home.
I’d been relieved (a little) when she’d told me she had to move back to Spain. We’d pledged we’d keep in touch, and that had worked for about a month. Now I read the updates on her online profile and she read mine, and that’s what we were to each other.
I wanted to want something more than Sofia for Christmas.
And was that Lily? I couldn’t really tell. For sure, the last thing I was going to write to her was All I want for Christmas is you.
“What do I want for Christmas?” I asked Angelina Jolie. Her full lips didn’t part with an answer.
“What do I want for Christmas?” I asked Charlize Theron. I even added, “Hey, nice dress,” but she still didn’t reply. I leaned over her cleavage and asked, “Are they real?” She didn’t make a move to slap me.
Finally, I turned to Boomer.
“What do I want for Christmas?”
He looked thoughtful for a second, then said, “World peace?”
“Not helpful!”
“Well, what’s in your Amazonian hope chest?” Boomer asked.
“My WHAT?”
“You know, on Amazon. Your hope chest.”
“You mean my wish list?”
“Yeah, that.”
And just like that, I knew what I wanted. Something I had always wanted. But it was so unrealistic it hadn’t even made it to my wish list.
I needed a bench to sit down on, but the only one I could see already had Elizabeth Taylor, Hugh Jackman, and Clark Gable perched atop it, waiting for a bus.
“I just need a sec,” I told Boomer before I ducked behind Ozzy Osbourne and his whole family (circa 2003) to write in the Moleskine.
No smart-assness (assy-smartness?) here.
The truth?
What I want for Christmas is an OED. Unabridged.
Just in case you are not a word nerd like myself:
O = Oxford
E = English
D = Dictionary
Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.
Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».
Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.
Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.