I feel like I should write something profound. Some sort of Garden State worthy prose about what being "home" feels like, perhaps. I feel like I should write about how the balmy temperatures and the lack of snow is unsettling in Macbeth-esque proportions. I feel like I should write words that will make the world want to fall in love with me. And if not the world, then maybe just one man.
So here goes:
I got a dinner party in a box for Christmas.