xvii. Brown
It's Christmastime, and they're cuddled by the fire, TV on, wine glasses strewn about. Sugar plums and all that. They have a medium-sized tree up, decorated in a beautifully clumsy type of way. She has this habit of waiting until midnight to open gifts. He goes first, and brings her a rectangular-shaped wrapped in lunch bag brown paper. She tears at it, giggling. She pauses, and raises it, questioning eyes. "Ann Coulter Tells It Like It Is?" This was now a delicate situation. "This is my gift? You serious?"
He smiles, runs off, and returns with a brown leather briefcase.