Oh, Secret Santa. You great, carbon-based, anonymous, humanoid, you.

You know, I think we have a lot in common.

Actually, that's possibly a lie – I don't know you.

For starters, you said you like anime. The video of my cute dogs made your manovaries explode. Also, I'd like to think you are an ESFJ. I'm an INTJ, or so they tell me based off the million question Meyer-Briggs test I took. The last time I took a quiz I was supposed to find out which Mean Girls character I was the most like, but I accidentally took a quiz on what character from Girls I was most like.

That doesn't really explain much.

You know what else we both have in common?

Quasi-trust in random internet strangers.

Because I'm sure you had only a little bit of trust in your own Santa when you sent your package. I had those same weird feelings of doubt when I signed up for Secret Santa and said to myself, “The internet is full of weirdo, half-lizard people, but so is the 7-11. How can it get any worse?”

You know when you are watching an episode of, “I Didn't Know I Was Pregnant,” and somebody goes into the bathroom. Like, no matter how many times you screem, “No! No! What are you doing! No! A baby will come straight out of you!,” but the idiot still goes in there?

I'm that idiot.

So, flashback to last month. It's veteran's week on Family Feud (I'm not evening going to discuss the fact that I have a strange obsession with Steve Harvey suits, even the tie collection). I know I'm gonna kill it; the only thing I know better than military related questions asked to a survey of 100 random audience members is how to spell out my full first and last name (The middle is Latin – as in the dead language. You think my parents would have thought twice about that, but they still gave it to me). Anywho, I'm jazzed. I'm super-pyched and ready to go. I'm gunna be the very best, like no one ever was. Besides, how many 32+, Steve Harvey suit fans, are free on a Tuesday night in Eugene? Answer: One metric buttload.

Like, if people were Peppermint Mochas with Sprinks, our town would be ran into the ground by skinny jeans and Dutch Bros stickers. To put it simply, there were some other people watching Family Feud from their homes, and their homes have an undetermined capacity. After doing some quick mental math...bla bla bla...if you are still reading this then I suggest skipping on down, because this post is falling apart quickly, and that story had nothing to do with Christmas.

In digression.

Flash forward a month. I get an email saying that my Secret Santa has pulled my information from the database. Then I get another email. This time from my Secret Santa asking me about the things I like - my favorite anime, my gender, what position I play in Rugby, the names of my dogs, blood type, etc. At first I was like, “Cool. Looks like I have somebody who really cares about me this time. A real stand up guy who knows how to treat another man.” I say to myself, “Screw it, I'm going to answer all his questions to the Nth degree and hope for the best.” Flash forward again, and it's now the 12th of December. On the porch my wife shows me a delivery that I had assumed was from Amazon on account that I had just ordered my daughters Christmas presents using a free trial of Prime, but it didn't line up with the correct size for any of my gifts.

At this point, I knew four things: One, this package came from Texas. Two, I didn't know anyone in Texas. Three, I somehow had one package from Tex. And four, I didn't remember buying anything from anyone in Texas.

So I calmly questioned. As fate would have it, my wife was still at the door holding the package. The calm, rational, line of questioning went something like this:

Me: Could that be some of the Christmas gifts we ordered on Amazon, using a free trial of Prime? Her: Well, it says “Care of Wonderflex” on it, so it is probably your Reddit Secret Santa. Me: But that said it shipped yesterday or something. Her: They must have used a shipping service that is known for speed and reliability throughout all of the continental United States. Me: That is nice of them. Does it feel like a gift given in great regard? Her: It is heavy. Not too heavy, but definitely has some weight for it's size. Me: Cool. Take it in the house and after we feed the baby I can stage a chair in the dining room to take pictures to mimic that one girl with the pictures I showed you the other night on the internet. Her: Splendid.

Obviously, it wasn't the Poppin' Fun Push Vacuum for the baby, and I made my wife second guess her choice in marrying me. It's not your fault that your gift shipped from Texas on the same day as the gifts we ordered through Amazon using a free trial of Prime, but I'm still going to blame you, because of Texas and such.

But I'm not done yet (bet you wish I was though).

No, because as The Fates would also have it, Saturday was one of the wettest days of the year. Like, can't step three feet in front of you without stepping in wetness. Fate, according to Wikipedia, is a white-robed incarnation of destiny, and guess who decided to make an appearance!? Azuki and Nara! Do you know about Azuki and Nara? Short version, if you don't. Azuki and Nara are these cute dogs that lived in the same house as me last year, and still do this year. Basically, I purchased them from a breeder, took them home and then loved them like my own children. Watch the video on YouTube for more information. So, wetness day, two dogs, sane and rational me. No, I didn't film them this time around, but I was pushing them back away from the door so I could get in the and talk to them about my mystery gift. I believe the exact conversation was, “I hope I he didn't buy myself anything while in a state of intoxication. Last time that happened was never, due to the fact that I don't accept gifts from strangers, nor generally allow intoxicated people access to my credit card.” Not only did my dogs hear the whole thing, but they were within three feet of my feet and clearly know that I have good character when it comes to gift buying and receiving polices.

How, how, how is this possible???????!?!?!??!??!????!??!?!:)?!?!? (See photo #1 for my reaction)

Because, science and stuff, that's how.

So I got into the house, literally pulled a chair from the living room into the mo' well lit kitchen, took out my tripod, DSLR, hot shoe flash, remote trigger app and then prepared myself to take the same photos as a post I had already seen in the gallery as being one of the top posts, all the whilst opening the package.

Photo #2 is a copy of said post's photo #2. Picture #3 is for those of you following this post along with their post. I used a ka-Bar instead of scissors. A few years ago I picked up this sassy knife at Cabelas for $75.00. Skip pictures #4-7 unless you just want to see my face trying to look like her face. Also my beard, which my mother doesn't seem to care about either way.

But broheim. I'm totally the guy for manga, and Love Hina is a manga. Seriously. Love Hina is currently my favorite anime and I can only describe this manga as a cross between the softness of Anquan Boldin's touch, the quirkiness of Jerryd Hayne, and the pure unadulterated pleasure of watching Colin Kaepernicks abs in slow-motion. Also, I'm off work a few days for the holidays and I will definitely want to read this. I may start a website dedicated to photos of me doing just this.

But wait, there's more! (See photo #10. That's my sassy finger pointed in the shape of, “wait,” so you know that additional things may be coming).

Picture #11 shows the small package that I probably shouldn't have opened first. Aren't you supposed to open the smallest package first? (is that a thing?) Well, it was too late now, and besides, I'm following the order from the other post.

You know, I had no difficulty deciding how I should open this envelope. I had a really big knife sitting beside me and I know how to use it to open things without damaging the contents of the package. Turns out it was pretty easy to do (Picture #13, I think?). Picture #14 captures that wonderful moment where I try to make the same face as that girl did. I realize that I may have a new profile pic.

Aww, you got me candy canes! These will go wonderfully with the rest of the ornaments on my tree…which...is what I would say if I didn't neglect putting up a tree on account of being busy with a baby. (See photo #18, where I make a face). Number 19 is me reading your note. Yeah, definitely should have opened the small one last. Reading this note would have given the gift away.

Anyways, Secret Santa, yes, you did get me a bomb-diggy-fresh three-volume omnibus of Love Hina and some great candy canes for my tummy, and I appreciate that.

But thanks to you, I am now known as “That male secretary who talks to his dogs like humans, thinks that Santa is from Texas, owns low-grade beaver tranquilizers, and can become invisible only when people aren't looking.” And for that, you are an anonymous person on the internet, who I entrusted my address, and in return sent an amazing gift I will treasure for years to come.

Thanks for boosting my reputation as a logical thinker when it comes to the origin of packages and increasing the possibility of getting to do the horizontal polka with my wife.

Wonderflex

PS: Nothing, I repeat, nothing is better than Phil Dawson, aka Robocop (See picture #20).