Is it the thought that counts?
There was a jolly fire in the fireplace. The snow was falling outside the windows, to the delight of children and despair of transport planners. Aristotle sipped on the mulled wine, watching while Kant meticulously wrapped another jar of homemade mustard.
“Dear Immanuel, are you going to give all your friends mustard?”
“Everybody except Georg. He likes to mix it with ketchup; he says it makes a great synthesis. I don’t care much for that idea and I would hate to see it spread. He will get a writing style guide instead.”
“I guess for you it is the thought that counts, when it comes to Christmas presents.”