I tear through the package like a hyena tears through a wounded baby gazelle, looking for the goodies within. I'm greeted by Justin Bieber decorated Christmas wrapping, but no matter. I ignore the small pain in my eyes and continue tearing through the various packages. One by one they tumble out; Phil's BBQ sauce, Phil's dry rub BBQ seasoning, Phil's wet nap, a small tin of Altoids, and a some Swiss Miss chocolate powder.

At first I had thought I hit the jackpot...I was wrong.

With ignorant glee I ran to the kitchen and took photos. What a nice secret Santa! Sent me sauce and seasoning from Phil's which is presumably only available in San Diego. I made preparation to enjoy the gifts. I heated up the milk, mixed it with the Swiss Miss chocolate, and dropped a few Altoids into the brew. As I sat there drinking the chocolate, something felt amiss.

I looked at the barbecue sauce and dry rub, and looked outside. Looked back at the rub, then back outside. Like a limping rodent in a hamster wheel, the the gears slowly turned. The rain and sleet in my Ohio environment was coming down hard. I stood there looking out at my patio, at the spot my barbecue WOULD be if it were summer, and I began to understand the evil of my secret Santa.

If this were summer, or even late spring, I could enjoy this delectable sauce and dry rub. Hovering over a slowly roasting rack of ribs as my mouth watered. But no. This is near the end of December. I guess I COULD barbecue something in my oven, but who would I be kidding. I would eat those ribs hastily as the sauce mixed with my tears of shame for daring to try to call that authentic barbecue. You can't waste sauce like Phil's BBQ sauce on a mere oven roasted concoction...it's absurd! And my secret Santa knew this, and wanted to rub in the face of this Ohioan prisoner how glorious his carefree San Diego life was treating him. At this very moment, he could possibly be enjoying a meal like I wanted to. Grilling in the backyard, sun crisping his neck with a cool Mojito in hand.

But not me. I must contend with the Swiss Miss and Altoids, doomed to wait for summer. I stare at that delicious sauce, knowing fully that the fires of envy and jealousy have been stoked ever so craftily by this Demon of Diego. I grasped the mug of hot chocolate so tightly in my fist that it shatters, sending a mixture of blood and minty hot chocolate all over my kitchen floor as I just glare out the window at the inclement Ohio weather.

It was then that I dropped to my knees and wept.

Figured you deserved a small story. Thanks for the awesome gift!