Columnists: A yodeling pickle, you say? The worst gifts possible
At Christmas time, I find myself missing my hardware store, which always saw a panicky influx of male shoppers the day before Christmas. They would hurry in, still in barn or chore clothes, still smelling like corn silage, or cow manure, or maybe oat dust from grinding feed. I personally liked those smells. I miss them. The day before Christmas was therefore pleasant for me. Barn smells. Can't beat them.
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