“Are you getting me anything for Christmas?” I asked Henry. (We don’t always get each other presents because a certain 5-year-old rapes our bank accounts.)

“Yes,” he replied, to my surprise.

“Does it have anything to do with—”

“No,” Henry cut me off.

“How do you know what I was going to say?

”

“Jonny Craig. And not unless it’s a death notice.”

“Damn,” I mumbled, all defeated. (Like its anything but predictable.

Someone who’s only read my blog 5 times could have finished my sentence.

)