Christmas was invented solely to torture children. What two things do kids love the most?
Surprises and gifts.
What two virtues do they absolutely lack, above all else?
Patience and restraint.
And yet, every single year, we promise them surprise presents if they can only control themselves while gaily wrapped bundles silently mock them from beneath a giant, glowing, flashing tree.
Move along, folks; nothing to see here.
And so we peek. Obviously. Oh, it starts innocently enough: We rattle the box, measure the heft, and scrounge for receipts in the garbage, but eventually, when that fails to yield results, we unfold a little flap and try to make out some telltale text. Then, because it's already unfolded some, what's a little more? Before you know it, you've got the new Nintendo plugged into the TV at 4 in the morning and you're frantically trying to come up with a reasonable explanation for what you've done -- maybe terrorists broke into your bedroom and challenged you to a game of Smash Bros. in exchange for your parents' very lives? Yeah, yeah -- that might work!
"Dammit, Timmy! You know we don't negotiate with the enemy!"