The man perusing the Biography section was rattling off names without any sense of rhyme or reason. Ted Kennedy? Jackie Robinson? Amelia Earhart?

About whom should he read? The person he was speaking to clearly wasn’t offering much guidance, as he continued to ricochet from subject to subject. He was simply hellbent on getting himself a biography, topic be damned.

I too was searching the spines of the books on display, although I already knew precisely what I was seeking. I’d marched myself up to Borders as soon as I’d left the movie theater, having been captivated the absolutely lovely film The Young Victoria. Sure, I’m already reading two books at the same time. OK, it’s true that both of them are history texts and that one of them deals with a monarch. But why not add a third to the mix?

(Hi, my name is Victoria and I’m a history addict.)

It was all I could do to refrain from grabbing my pick for the biography he should be reading, tap him on the shoulder, say “you’re welcome” and then walk away. And, in hindsight, I rather regret that I didn’t do just that.

Christmas was absolutely delightful this year, full of relaxation, laughter and good-natured teasing. I’d been so focused on the process of finding the perfect gifts with which I could surprise my family that I’d managed to forget that they were also endeavoring to surprise me.

And surprise they most certainly did.