Since the whole Santa-isn’t-real cat/bag thing happened Christmas mornings are pretty boring.
My mom says she’s embracing minimalism, but I think we are just kind of poor.
“I think I found it,” I say, my legs bouncing and my butt cheeks squeezing together like I have to fart in class.
Pork Chop plods into the room, now wearing her Christmas sweater. She begins nudging me again, urgently.