If you’re like 99% of the people on the planet, you are probably feeling the Christmas spirit . . .. You know what spirit I’m talking about . . . that “Oh my god! . . . ONLY A FEW MORE DAYS BEFORE CHRISTMAS!” gremlin that threatens your sanity.

You’ve procrastinated, made excuses, counted and recounted the number of people you have to buy for, counted your toes . . . and, all the while, the clock has been ticking: "tick-tock, tick-tock . . . you’re going into hock." That gruesome reminder has prevented you from actually extracting that innocent-looking plastic card that lurks in your wallet, poised to dance with the devil in a debt-duo.

And the 12 Days of Christmas has taken on a sinister meaning. You realize it was really invented by slick marketers as a way to remind hapless shoppers that the clock has begun its countdown, a marketing maneuver to goad people into that desired “no-holds-barred” shopping mode that commerce junkies salivate over.

Those marketers know a thing or two, too, cause your eyes are glazed over and you feel yourself going into Christmas Shopper Commando Mode. You approach your last-minute shopping like a pit-bull on crack: snarling, teeth bared, ready to tear people to shreds. In fact, you wanted to gnaw on the Walmart greeter’s leg just now. And you have one goal and only one goal in mind: FINISH YOUR CHRISTMAS SHOPPING.

And you’re so exhausted you don’t care if granny gets a man’s shaving kit or whether your flirtatious uncle Jack appreciates the Bible that was meant for granny—the one you realize you mislabeled in the chaotic Christmas scramble preamble. (Well, for crying out loud, they were the same size, after all!)

You also know why people partake of Christmas “cheer.” In fact, right before your credit card committed suicide (and thank god it did, you know you would have had officials paying you a visit in the new year with a large pair of clippers) you bought yourself some hard liquor. And I mean hard, kick-ass, blow-your-socks-right-off-to-serendipity liquor.

You now sit in a stupor, gazing stupidly at your gaily lit Christmas tree while chestnuts roast on an open fire. You toast yourself on being that 1% of the population that actually got their Christmas shopping done, sans the nervous breakdown and expensive therapy bills . . . and you watch the sparks float and drift upwards . . .

The glowing embers come to rest on the tree branches and you are just telling yourself that they look berrrry . . . puuuurry . . .

Good night to all and to all a good night.

4-2-1 shortbread

Butter Tart Bars

To Die For! New York-Style Cheesecake

"No Bake" Cookies & Squares

Reeces Pieces Squares

Mocha Peanut clusters

Peanut Clusters

Butterscoth Bark

Christmas Cheese Ball

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