Each year, I ponder anew this tradition of giving trinket gifts to those we know. Each year, it boils down the same; and I grow more and more glad that I have divorced myself from this practice.
This obligatory interaction.
This resolving our relationships into some tangible material object to exchange.
This judging the relationship by the quality of said material object.
The feverish rush to completion.
The resentment which is present always: when one feels put upon to be in contact with those they wish they didn't have to see. But for whom the pain of declining the invitation, is worse.
It's madness to me, and each year, I rejoice more in the fact that I have exercised my choice to disengage from this practice. If anyone seems troubled by this decision, I tell them I'm a Jehovah's Witness and ask if they want to hear the good news about our saviour Jesus. This always stops the conversation dead in its tracks. I'm not a JW. My apologies to any readers who are. I unrepentantly use your religion to shut down unpleasant conversation. Clearly, I am going to hell. That is frankly OK with me. Feel free to stop reading now.
I walked this year down what I like to call the 'aisle of despair' in Walgreens, the central seasonal aisle filled now with gifts under $10.00 or so. I'm struck by the notion of who in my life really *needs* a stormtrooper snuggie. Who indeed? I mention this casually to a girl friend of mine and she exclaims that she, in fact, does need this in her life. Her excitement is palpable. I make a note: here is one human for which the inane has value. I decide that I love her anyway.
This got me thinking of what it really means when we say "It's the thought that counts".
What indeed is the thought behind giving someone a singing bass which is motion detected? I wish you to die of a heart attack on your way past this thing which will start singing loudly and send you jumping as if your pants were just lit on literal fire. That is what I think, at least.
What thought could possibly be behind the Storm Trooper Snuggie, or its Jedi cousin the Obi Wan Snuggie? Does one truly need a gift purchased from Walgreens at 23:59 on 12/24? Does this validate anything meaningful about the relationship? Does it really mean that I should conclude that you really do hate me and want me dead? Should I expect you to force choke me with my Storm Trooper Snuggie while I desperately try to free myself from its blanket with armhole grip?
Should I be very afraid?
When I think back at some of the gifts I received when I was married, clearly I should have properly concluded that my food was likely poisoned. As we went around and opened our gifts in front of the entire family, there were the thoughtful yet practical gifts that I would always choose. I'm Swiss, I'm all about thoughtful, yet practical. There were the extravagant gifts which were often the mainstay of my sister-in-law: she got a numbered Dumbo Lithograph, as this is her favourite Disney movie. Posh.
And then there were my gifts...
Gifts, which no sane person would wrap for exchange, and yet, here I was year after year. Let me explain.
Once, from my husband's grandmother, I received a bag. You know, the kind of bag which one gets as part of the nonsensical 'free gift with purchase'. I never understood this notion in the first place. How can it be a free gift if you bought something? It's more like a sidecar purchase. Whatever. These gifts typically have something of some value in them. This bag once held an item which had some monetary value associated with it. This item had been removed. Instead, there was something called a "button cover" contained within. A set of three to be exact. This set of three had clearly once been part of a larger set, as the bottom had been visibly torn off. So here were three of these rhinestone encrusted clip on earrings for the buttons of a shirt - since apparently my existing buttons were not garish enough to equate with the dictates of fashion. The fourth button cover was removed, but the price tag: 1.95, was still firmly attached. Um, thanks. Obviously, you hate me.
I have received the most amazing things from my husband wrapped under the tree.
Dish towels. Me: Really? Spouse: Oh, but look, honey, there is a matching oven mitt. *cough*
A fly swatter. No, I can't make this up. And he actually wrapped it. No, he didn't put it in a box. He wrapped it in its fly swatter shape. *blink, blink* Spouse: But look honey, isn't it cute; it has a little cut out of a fly on it. Me: Really??
Then there was the time when he didn't even bother to put the can opener under the tree, and when I looked at him like: you didn't get me anything this year? He ran and showed me the can opener already plugged into the kitchen outlet. Sigh
My mother-in-law once got me a three pack of xmas panties. Two sizes two small, I guess the fact that I'm six feet tall still means I should be a size 4. Maybe she was trying to tell me to lose weight. What was really priceless was the fact that I got the exact same pack of panties two years in a row. I wish I was making this up. The truth is really the strangest fiction.
I once received the most incredible tracky suit, in teal, with magenta, and geometric shapes of various sizes and random placement, complete with very white piping. I can't imagine what in my existing wardrobe would have led her to believe that I would ever wear such a thing. It was rendered in this fantastically krinkly polyester which made this interminable swooshing sound whenever one moved. It was truly amazing. I tend to be a classic jeans and shirt kind of person. This has never wavered in all my years of existence. One would think that knowing me since I was about eight years old would have clued her in. Maybe this was some sort of fashion intervention on her part. She obviously wanted a daughter-in-law who went to the Doris Roberts school of fashion and cosmetology. I suppose I should be thankful she never gave me makeup. Given that she was very fond of brows which were mostly shaped like the gateway arch and constructed of crayon, with ice blue shadow filling the space below, I am very grateful indeed.
Once, she gave me this top. It was the most amazing construction I have ever seen in all of fashion. It was sleeveless, which of course, I wouldn't be caught dead in: given the fact that my stint as a gymnast left me with guns like Jean Claude Van-Damme. It had the tiniest horizontal stripes I have ever seen: sure to make even the most anorexic of supermodels look like Delta Burke on a bad day. And it came complete with both a bright white faux patent leather belt about three inches wide (why, anyone would belt a shirt is beyond me), and a ruffle. Yes, it had a two inch ruffle all along the bottom. This shirt was clearly designed to make even the most fit look like a hideous, out of shape blob. As I pondered this fashion atrocity, I came to the conclusion that I should probably get someone to taste the food before I ate any.
All this boils down to one thing: the gift exchange is more of a meaningless gauntlet to navigate. For the gift giver, they really don't want to get you anything. But society dictates they have to get you something: now the horror begins. Heaven forbid they get you something too nice you might run the risk of having the entire relationship misinterpreted. Get that girl a necklace for xmas when you aren't really serious, and watch her turn into a stage 9 clinger in 3, 2, ... Yeah, Danger Will Robinson, Danger! They choose to err on the side of the trinket gift instead.
So, we find ourselves in between the scylla of shitty gifts and the charybdis of over signified importance. How do we navigate this? My husband was always fond of the gag gift for this. One year he got all the guys on his list the video edition of Brokeback Mountain. I don't know if anyone really suspected it was a symbol of his truly undying affection for them. But opening it in front of all their friends ensured the awkward silence that seems to say: gag gift; and it was quickly tucked aside (I presume for later viewing) and the next gift hastily opened. I have done similar, since I'm totally a guy. I went to a bridal shower once and thought it would be hilarious if I wrapped her gift in a giant family size box from massengil (every bride needs a four pack of freshness!). Turns out girls don't have quite such a handle on the gag gift theory as my guy friends do. She looked genuinely horrified, until I pleaded with her to open it. She was very relieved with the adorable bikini and coverup ensemble I had gotten her in anticipation of her Caribbean nuptials. Lesson learned, however. Thankfully, I haven't been invited to another wedding shower. Coincidence? Maybe.
This obligatory interaction.
This resolving our relationships into some tangible material object to exchange.
This judging the relationship by the quality of said material object.
The feverish rush to completion.
The resentment which is present always: when one feels put upon to be in contact with those they wish they didn't have to see. But for whom the pain of declining the invitation, is worse.
It's madness to me, and each year, I rejoice more in the fact that I have exercised my choice to disengage from this practice. If anyone seems troubled by this decision, I tell them I'm a Jehovah's Witness and ask if they want to hear the good news about our saviour Jesus. This always stops the conversation dead in its tracks. I'm not a JW. My apologies to any readers who are. I unrepentantly use your religion to shut down unpleasant conversation. Clearly, I am going to hell. That is frankly OK with me. Feel free to stop reading now.
I walked this year down what I like to call the 'aisle of despair' in Walgreens, the central seasonal aisle filled now with gifts under $10.00 or so. I'm struck by the notion of who in my life really *needs* a stormtrooper snuggie. Who indeed? I mention this casually to a girl friend of mine and she exclaims that she, in fact, does need this in her life. Her excitement is palpable. I make a note: here is one human for which the inane has value. I decide that I love her anyway.
This got me thinking of what it really means when we say "It's the thought that counts".
What indeed is the thought behind giving someone a singing bass which is motion detected? I wish you to die of a heart attack on your way past this thing which will start singing loudly and send you jumping as if your pants were just lit on literal fire. That is what I think, at least.
What thought could possibly be behind the Storm Trooper Snuggie, or its Jedi cousin the Obi Wan Snuggie? Does one truly need a gift purchased from Walgreens at 23:59 on 12/24? Does this validate anything meaningful about the relationship? Does it really mean that I should conclude that you really do hate me and want me dead? Should I expect you to force choke me with my Storm Trooper Snuggie while I desperately try to free myself from its blanket with armhole grip?
Should I be very afraid?
When I think back at some of the gifts I received when I was married, clearly I should have properly concluded that my food was likely poisoned. As we went around and opened our gifts in front of the entire family, there were the thoughtful yet practical gifts that I would always choose. I'm Swiss, I'm all about thoughtful, yet practical. There were the extravagant gifts which were often the mainstay of my sister-in-law: she got a numbered Dumbo Lithograph, as this is her favourite Disney movie. Posh.
And then there were my gifts...
Gifts, which no sane person would wrap for exchange, and yet, here I was year after year. Let me explain.
Once, from my husband's grandmother, I received a bag. You know, the kind of bag which one gets as part of the nonsensical 'free gift with purchase'. I never understood this notion in the first place. How can it be a free gift if you bought something? It's more like a sidecar purchase. Whatever. These gifts typically have something of some value in them. This bag once held an item which had some monetary value associated with it. This item had been removed. Instead, there was something called a "button cover" contained within. A set of three to be exact. This set of three had clearly once been part of a larger set, as the bottom had been visibly torn off. So here were three of these rhinestone encrusted clip on earrings for the buttons of a shirt - since apparently my existing buttons were not garish enough to equate with the dictates of fashion. The fourth button cover was removed, but the price tag: 1.95, was still firmly attached. Um, thanks. Obviously, you hate me.
I have received the most amazing things from my husband wrapped under the tree.
Dish towels. Me: Really? Spouse: Oh, but look, honey, there is a matching oven mitt. *cough*
A fly swatter. No, I can't make this up. And he actually wrapped it. No, he didn't put it in a box. He wrapped it in its fly swatter shape. *blink, blink* Spouse: But look honey, isn't it cute; it has a little cut out of a fly on it. Me: Really??
Then there was the time when he didn't even bother to put the can opener under the tree, and when I looked at him like: you didn't get me anything this year? He ran and showed me the can opener already plugged into the kitchen outlet. Sigh
My mother-in-law once got me a three pack of xmas panties. Two sizes two small, I guess the fact that I'm six feet tall still means I should be a size 4. Maybe she was trying to tell me to lose weight. What was really priceless was the fact that I got the exact same pack of panties two years in a row. I wish I was making this up. The truth is really the strangest fiction.
I once received the most incredible tracky suit, in teal, with magenta, and geometric shapes of various sizes and random placement, complete with very white piping. I can't imagine what in my existing wardrobe would have led her to believe that I would ever wear such a thing. It was rendered in this fantastically krinkly polyester which made this interminable swooshing sound whenever one moved. It was truly amazing. I tend to be a classic jeans and shirt kind of person. This has never wavered in all my years of existence. One would think that knowing me since I was about eight years old would have clued her in. Maybe this was some sort of fashion intervention on her part. She obviously wanted a daughter-in-law who went to the Doris Roberts school of fashion and cosmetology. I suppose I should be thankful she never gave me makeup. Given that she was very fond of brows which were mostly shaped like the gateway arch and constructed of crayon, with ice blue shadow filling the space below, I am very grateful indeed.
Once, she gave me this top. It was the most amazing construction I have ever seen in all of fashion. It was sleeveless, which of course, I wouldn't be caught dead in: given the fact that my stint as a gymnast left me with guns like Jean Claude Van-Damme. It had the tiniest horizontal stripes I have ever seen: sure to make even the most anorexic of supermodels look like Delta Burke on a bad day. And it came complete with both a bright white faux patent leather belt about three inches wide (why, anyone would belt a shirt is beyond me), and a ruffle. Yes, it had a two inch ruffle all along the bottom. This shirt was clearly designed to make even the most fit look like a hideous, out of shape blob. As I pondered this fashion atrocity, I came to the conclusion that I should probably get someone to taste the food before I ate any.
All this boils down to one thing: the gift exchange is more of a meaningless gauntlet to navigate. For the gift giver, they really don't want to get you anything. But society dictates they have to get you something: now the horror begins. Heaven forbid they get you something too nice you might run the risk of having the entire relationship misinterpreted. Get that girl a necklace for xmas when you aren't really serious, and watch her turn into a stage 9 clinger in 3, 2, ... Yeah, Danger Will Robinson, Danger! They choose to err on the side of the trinket gift instead.
So, we find ourselves in between the scylla of shitty gifts and the charybdis of over signified importance. How do we navigate this? My husband was always fond of the gag gift for this. One year he got all the guys on his list the video edition of Brokeback Mountain. I don't know if anyone really suspected it was a symbol of his truly undying affection for them. But opening it in front of all their friends ensured the awkward silence that seems to say: gag gift; and it was quickly tucked aside (I presume for later viewing) and the next gift hastily opened. I have done similar, since I'm totally a guy. I went to a bridal shower once and thought it would be hilarious if I wrapped her gift in a giant family size box from massengil (every bride needs a four pack of freshness!). Turns out girls don't have quite such a handle on the gag gift theory as my guy friends do. She looked genuinely horrified, until I pleaded with her to open it. She was very relieved with the adorable bikini and coverup ensemble I had gotten her in anticipation of her Caribbean nuptials. Lesson learned, however. Thankfully, I haven't been invited to another wedding shower. Coincidence? Maybe.
I love you, but I will NOT be your food taster. Heh.
ReplyDeleteThankfully, I don't have these people in my life anymore; so I don't need to have the food tested. But I think you actually *would* test the food for me... IJS.
ReplyDelete