The arrival of a covey of snot-related gifts kicked off my birthday with auspicion, which was later fruitionized by a free Boodles martini at Shuck's amid a pleasingly diverse sampling of fellow drawers whose lubricated conversation was fecund with ribaldry, such as Daniel's revelation that he "prefers it from behind." Topping off the festivities was the appearance of Santa, who--gasp--scolded me. If you were to make a list of the horrible things that could happen to you this time of year, it would probably include things like accidentally swallowing jingle bells or slipping on the ice and landing on a chestnut--except for Daniel, of course. But high on anyone's list would have to be getting scolded by Santa. He even threatened to withhold a Huffy bike from me, and even though I had no desire for a Huffy bike, it made me feel like crying anyway. So that was my birthday.