Howl

It kept snowing last night, nothing excessive, maybe 6" here. Moby had to get us up to play with him this morning, and this is his first walk in snow to our knowledge.


Checking out a local station for road conditions and weather, I read a short item about "worst gift" stories. They were pretty lame, a bad color tie, socks, a ruffled dress, nothing that screams in horrified laughter. No leg shaped lamps in fishnet, the soft glow of electric sex gleaming in the window. Although, actually, we would love to have one of those lamps. But then, I gave D a 4' inflatable emperor penguin for christmas one year, and George is still with us.

Nothing beats the litany at the Carolyn Hax site the week before christmas. Reindeer Poo is the only one that comes to mind, but there have been some doozies.

And the "worst" gift for one might well be another's whimsical, or at least best story. One of my father's sisters-in-law gave me a game one year. A few ping pong balls in an egg carton with numbers in the cups. Otherwise undecorated. I did like the ping pong balls, actually. Hardest time I ever had acting excited and grateful. One of the many times I would have preferred no gift to a grudging one.

From Aunt E, a pair of flannel pajamas that would have fit me three or four years earlier was hard to take. A sweater from the in-laws one year, too navy, too fluffy, I planned immediately to return it, until D thoughtfully took the tag off. He got such a LOOK, but I said nothing. Better than the Book Of Mormon they got for me, which I took reverently, and later quietly donated to the library. My mother send me a huge beige sweatshirt with an enormous applique teddy bear covering the chest - I was 30 at the time. A friend's kids used it as a sleep shirt. D was given a Grisham novel, which no Le Carre reader would stomach.

But this is part of why I don't get presents for the children of my friends, children I've barely met, just because it's a holiday. I keep them in mind, and once in a while, when I know they need something, for no reason, I will give them a gift. Most of them are pretty much swamped with stuff anyway. I want to give generously, thoughtfully, so they don't have to act happy. Or if it's a horrible gift, I at least want to be remembered with laughter, not because I was cheap.

The worst gifts that left me burdened, felt bad because they made me feel invisible and misunderstood. The truly horrible ones leapt over the line into derisive humor that would last generations. The difference between a bad movie and an energetic howler deserving of the MST3K treatment.

May you have had apt gifts, or at least ones to tell tales of.