I’ve been on the receiving end of
some pretty amazing gifts in my life.
Things I really wanted, but had no expectation of actually getting. Surprises that blew my circuits with the
thought, care and love that I knew went into picking them out for me.
On the giving end, the fun of
seeing a friend’s face light up with genuine excitement at a perfect gift
chosen especially for them brings a pleasure and satisfaction that’s hard to
match, and I don’t think I’m alone in feeling that way.
So why is it that every
gift-giving occasion always produces at least a couple of those “What the hell
were they thinking?” gifts that look like the giver just threw a “Hail Mary”
and hoped for the best?
Let me just say I don’t need any
more – or any, for that matter -- tee-shirts with sayings on them. “Does 'anal retentive' have a hyphen?” Thanks for pointing out that I’m a control
freak and, by all means, let’s share it with the world.
Same with that mood ring. I know what mood I’m in, thank you, and while we’re at it, I haven’t been in the mood for a lava lamp since 1968
either. While you may have had the best
of intentions, I already have closet shelves devoted to ceramic cats, more soap
than anyone could use in a lifetime, candles for everyone should there be a
nationwide power outage, and a ceramic photo frame in the shape of a cow. Blessedly, only one of those.
While it should go without
saying, unless we’re closely related, please don’t give me underwear. As for socks with cartoon characters on
them? Really? The dementia is that obvious, is it? I don’t need a coffee mug with a
photo of my dog on it. I know what my
dog looks like. I’m already the only one
in the office with no family photos on her desk. Why don’t you just get me a mug that says
“pathetic” and be done with it?
Homemade gifts are especially
iffy. Jellies, cookies, banana
bread? Bring it on. A hand-knit beret made from your dog’s fur
that you collected from the floor after grooming, wove into yarn yourself and
then knit just for me? Not so much.
When I was 15 my mother put a
carton of cigarettes in my Christmas stocking.
“Spring” was my death stick of choice back then. Of course, this was before we all knew about
the dangers of smoking, which makes me feel a bit better because, although I
was a pretty rotten kid, I’d like to believe that my mother wasn’t trying to
off me.
All of which leads me to the
obvious: What wrong with cash? Even the wealthiest among us can appreciate
that a twenty will buy a few beers. The
wealthy love cash. Why do you think they
have so much of it? And if it’s good
enough for them, it’s certainly good enough for the rest of us. While cash may not say, “I saw this and
immediately thought of you,” I think I’ve clearly established how very awry that
path can go.
When in doubt as to what I might
want, just ask. I’ll tell you. I’m not shy about it in the least. I’ll even send you links to the websites. Seriously, I’m here to help.
Of course, if you’re still
determined to go it on your own, you can pretty much never go wrong with a good
book. ;)
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If this post seems familiar that’s because it’s included in my book “Suitable
for Giving; A Collection of Wit with a Side of Wry,” the book that Kirk Douglas
said had a laugh on every page, and who am I to argue with Spartacus.
