Bah, humbug – er, handbag.

After reading CD’s (Cynthia Dill’s, certainly not Charles Dickens’) cautionary tale of two biddies, I was tempted to gift her with a centrifuge to whiz and whirl all the alcohol out of her fellow swappers’ libations – in a phrase, ‘fuge the ‘nog. (“Lesson in gracious giving emerges from Yankee Swap regret,” Dec. 18)

It’s tough to overstate the import of Ms. Dill’s message on party gift swapping. She’s turned it into a teachable moment for herself and her posterity. What should the rest of us unwashed reader/writers without our own columns glean from her words? I’ll offer my own take.

Frankly I’m amazed that Ms. Dill and her ilk haven’t proposed a more civilized and proper name than “Yankee Swap.”

“Yankee” is a word fraught with bad connotations for Red Sox fans, although the Evil Empire is less evil as it continues its losing ways. Putting that aside for the moment, just think of the hurt feelings of Southerners who have been victimized for generations by Yankees.

If Democrat apologists like Ms. Dill can drum up a good rationale for changing the name of the annual Jefferson-Jackson Dinner (was that Thomas and Andrew, or George and Jesse?), certainly they can gin up a neutral and downright unhurtful alternative to “Yankee.”

As for the unnamed stars – they know who they are, and I’ll bet they don’t send Ms. Dill season’s greetings – of that soiree of yore, somehow the prize purse seems and apparently was beneath them.

Perhaps a gift certificate from a local vet would have been more appropriate, a voucher for a cat spayed instead of a Kate Spade. It works wonders on felines, so why not try it on hissy hussies?

Charlie Anderson


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