Nice of you to stop in on your way somewhere else. Somewhere more enjoyable, I imagine. Well, I make things as nice as I can on my little budget, and if that�s not good enough, I guess you�ll find something more to your liking over at your father�s house. Of course his house is nicer. That�s what happens when you run off with the daughter of a window-treatment magnate�all of a sudden, everything�s roast beef and doilies.

I suppose you�ll want your presents. They�re under the tree, but don�t get too excited. I�m trying to clean out the garage, so most of what you�re getting is remnants of your father�s old fishing tackle and a couple of polyester neckties. That big box wrapped in a trash bag is a selection of his dress shirts from when he was head of the Odd Fellows, and a plastic baggie of Rolodex cards. Go to town.

I guess it�s not much of a Christmas, but then, he wasn�t much of a husband. Lord knows you take after him.

Anyway, happy holidays. Don�t worry about me. I�ll be just fine.