I’ve got an Amazon.com wish list. Woo-hoo!
So do a lot of people. I’ve clicked on author profiles on various forums and websites and found links to one form of wish list or another, posted on the off chance that some random reader might be so taken by the author’s analysis of Freud’s seduction theory as to want to drop $25 and send the author a pair of Hello Kitty snow socks. Some people want a lot of Harley-Davidson miscellany. Some people want semi-precious rocks. You name it, someone’s probably hopefully added it to their wish list in hopes some stranger might one day have a momentary lapse of reason. (Okay, I can’t recall seeing anyone posting their wish list for Leather Masters, but that’s probably because I don’t tend to hang out in those communities.)
If you were bored enough to look at my wish list, you’ll notice my tastes and wishes are a little more boring — mostly I use it to keep track of books I’d like to buy and read but haven’t because I, er, already have a library cart full of impulse purchase books and don’t want to have to buy another right away. But I also keep a few stupid-ass items on my list just to confuse someone who might wind up there, maybe some randomly-paired Secret Santa partner who winds up trying to buy me something despite having absolutely no idea who I am.
Case in point:
Well, Carole usually has no idea whatsoever to get me for birthdays and Christmas and most years just gives me a card and shaves my back and calls us even, but this year she decided to put in a little effort. And promptly wound up on my Amazon wish list, which I hadn’t actually expected anyone to actually really use — as I said, it’s mostly books I want to remember to think about buying one day, and strange crap put there to confuse strangers.
Oh — I almost forgot.
Secret Santa 2017: THANKS!