I’ve got an Amazon.com wish list. Woo-hoo!
Okay, so what? So do a lot of people. It’d probably be easier to list the people who don’t. I’ve got a friend who has a pet bunny and the bunny has a wish list. You wander around the net, reading stuff on blogs and forums, and it’s more or less inevitable that at some point you’ll come across some stranger’s wish list, posted on the off chance that a 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 pedestrian — 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 what 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 really expected anyone to actually 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.
And, oh — I almost forgot…
Thank you, my 2017 Secret Santa!