Does the prospect of holidays make us less giddy as we age because we're inoculated against the inevitable let down? Is it that we've learned what's really important about life isn't the side-show of tinsel and gimcrack? Is it that the day-to-day game we play against the universe is more engaging than waiting for Santa Claus? Is it that we've seen so many Christmases already?
It always struck me silly that Cary Bradshaw, who was supposed to be this hot-shot writer in Sex in the City, wrote nothing but rhetorical questions. Yet I seem to be doing the same thing.
Why is that?
