A Not-So-Gifted Gifter

Within this season of giving, I thought I would be nice to stop and reflect about yet another dysfunctional aspect of my life: the reciprocal gift-exchange. Case in point: My 21^st wedding anniversary. Ben Franklin (and Shakespeare and fortune cookies and the Magic Eight Ball) was famous for saying "Neither a lender nor a borrower be." Obviously he had little respect for grammatical guidelines forbidding sentences ending with a preposition. Loosely translated, I think our kite-flying friend may have actually been encouraging the purchase of gift cards to avoid the inevitable shambles which result from Amy Mosiman's poorly orchestrated good intentions.

Naturally, I researched the commemorative "Gift Table" prior to my purchase. One year is paper. Ten years is tin. Twenty is china. With that in mind, I trotted out to purchase my beloved his Indoor/Outdoor Thermometer. Nestled between my customary package of "Junior Mints," a 20 ounce  Pepsi, and a box of "Ho-Ho's," I left the unattended bag on my kitchen counter for only a couple of hours. Imagine my indignation when Brad thoughtlessly investigated the contents of my transparent plastic “gift” bag and happily discovered his romantic present a week early.

The fury, I mean flurry, of excitement also extended to my children. Left to my own devices one Sunday afternoon (my family rarely allows my activities to go unmonitored), I was moving one of Sydney's school bags when a small Dollar General bag fell out. As I went to return it, a large raspberry Ghiradelli chocolate bar slid out, practically screaming "Anniversary!" Torn, tormented, and tortured, I resisted temptation for practically five minutes before rationalizing my pre-gift consumption. My tearful confession was met with a notable lack of surprise. Although one work colleague suggested that this act may have placed me on Dante's third circle of "h-e-double hockey sticks" among other gluttons, my child appeared relatively unaffected.

Aware of her mother's interesting idiosyncrasies, sixteen-year-old Savannah has been diligently working to thwart my amazing propensity to ruin any and all gift giving opportunities. This year, Savannah waited until Brad had taken me out for our anniversary meal (Yeah, I ruined that too…sometimes there's just not enough words) before putting her plan into action. She hurriedly baked chocolate chip cookies for her father and me (no nuts for me—how's that for irony?), packaged and hid them, washed the dishes, disposed for the garbage, and aired out the house. Sorry, I'm like a blood hound. I stepped into my house, my nose honed in like a compass to magnetic north. "There is something amiss in my house," I announced pointedly. Dissecting my home with a keen eye, I stalked through each room like Sherlock Holmes on the hunt, at last unearthing the hidden containers in my bedroom. Foiled again, Savannah! Which brings us back to another less famous but remarkably astute Franklin quote, "[S]he who lives upon hope will die fasting."  Enjoy the gift-giving season!


as published in Warsaw's Country Courier 
http://www.mywnynews.com/arcade_warsaw/