Lone Wolf

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I toyed with the idea of posting a wish list here. The reason was not to guide people looking for gifts to give me, as that is at once presumptuous and unnecessary: this is stuff I’m likely to get myself. It seemed to me, in part, that to do so would be kind of like curating random cool things I’ve found recently, the performance of a kind of shopping public service. But yuck. Also, I am uncomfortable with my instinctive materialism and try to battle it at every turn.

Besides, when I made the list, I realized that the thing I am most excited about this year is Christmas tamales. My mom is getting a dozen, and I am bringing a dozen home from Tucson Tamale Company. It’s going to be an epic meal, with family – along with my mom’s holiday breakfast rolls, the best part of the whole weekend.

That said, one of the items on my list is the pictured fingerless knuckle tattoo gloves. I prefer “Lone Wolf,” and make no mistake, they shall be mine. It’s been unusually cold in Tucson this month, a distressing state of affairs for thin-blooded whiners such as myself. I am the kind of person who keeps her office thermostat at 80 degrees and still has to put on a jacket, shivering, when the afternoon light shifts away from my windows. In the fall, when the weather here turns and the highs are in the mid-90s, I bust out the fleece blankets and bundle up. This sounds like exaggeration, but I assure you, it is not. It’s in the 40s or 50s now, and I’m in Sherpa boots and have a fleece blanket draped over my head  and my hands. I really need those fingerless gloves, I’m telling you, and I’ll need them even more when my new writing nook is functional.


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