The wrong answer is “Nothing.”
Make something up. I don’t care. Tell me you want a 1976 Econoline van with an airbrushed painting of an eagle on the side. Tell me you want practical stuff like pants and sweatshirts or impractical stuff like a lifetime supply of Diet Pepsi. I didn’t ask you what you need. I asked you want. I know you don’t need anything. But god damn it, there has got to be something you want. A water pistol. An espresso maker. A chunk of cheese the size of a baby’s head. A blow job. All the original Pokemon. Six reams of chartreuse printer paper. Dinner and a movie. A blonde wig, a strap on and a night where I call you Linda. A bottle of Tylenol. A copy of the the original Rollerball on laser disc.
Anything. Just say something because saying nothing makes me guess because you know damn well I am not going to buy you NOTHING for Christmas. You know I’m going to get you something. So saying “nothing” is like a little mental game you play with the person who is asking, like “let’s see what they come up with.” Because you know. You know I can not get you NOTHING. Come on. Make it a little easier on me. Throw me a bone. Pretend there’s something you want, even if that something is a mound of cocaine and a hooker with a tentacle fetish.
Because if you keep saying NOTHING I’m going to buy you a zoom lens you don’t want for the camera you don’t have that miraculously is compatible with the camera I do have. And then I will take a very close up picture of your NOTHING with it.
p.s. I love you, you difficult bastard.