I am the prodigal gift-giver.
I do not, however, like to receive gifts.
Call me a smug, uncaring bitch if you like, but it will do nothing to change the fact that I dislike getting gifts to an extreme degree. But how can this be, you wonder? Well, it’s simple. We’ve all heard the expression, “A few bad apples spoil the bunch.” In this case, it’s more aptly, “A few shitty gifts…”
Ignore the horror and trepidation everyone feels when they get a gift from someone they didn’t even get a card for- we all know what an unpleasant situation that cluster fuck is. No, what I am talking about is receiving a gift from someone you care about (and spent hours shopping for) that is totally irrelevant to any facet of your life or lifestyle.
Come on, admit it. Everyone has gotten, at some point in time, a gift that was unwanted, inappropriate or just plain hideous. Like gift certificates to the Gap for the Goth loving anti-socialite. Or gourmet cookies for the diabetic or dieting. Or Christian Gospel cds for the local atheist. Or kitchen implements for the woman who hasn’t cooked since 1984. It’s a fact of Christmas- people will give shitty gifts just to be able to say they gave something.
My loved ones, they seem to be pretty damn good at giving shitty gifts. Oh, so you want specific examples? Fine. A home manicure set complete with cuticle brushes, trimmers, massagers, paraffin wax and nail polish. Not a bad gift, you say? Take a look at my damn fingers… or should I say the ragged, chewed stubs that used to be my fingers and fingernails. And, please, let’s not forget about the sexy bra a certain individual so thoughtfully purchased with me in mind. Sure, it was pretty, but it couldn’t hold up my tits without some serious reinforcing help from an industrial-strength roll of duct tape. And the penny loafers. Fuck. I refuse to even dignify.
I don’t hate getting gifts for the obvious reason, which would be that I’m just an ungrateful, selfish slob. No, I don’t hate that fucking purple leotard I got last year because it’s uncommonly tacky or even because it mocks my fat ass. No, I hate it because it proves beyond any sliver of doubt that my loved ones don’t know jack shit about me. Or, the less appealing of the two completely unappealing alternatives- that my loved ones don’t love me enough to put forth the effort to get something that matches my interests or personality. Either way, I hate receiving gifts and always get into a Christmas funk when I think about it.
It’s safe to assume that other people feel the exact same way about this subject as I do. If I wasn't so goddamn lazy, I would insert a little poll to ask how many people would rather get nothing than open something useless or awful. So, do your family and friends a favor this year. When you’re out shopping for gifts, stop and think. Ask yourself, “Now, is this gigantic wheel of cheese truly a good choice for Bob, my lactose-intolerant loved one?” Because, in all likelihood, you’ll still be getting those shitty gifts… but you can do the world a good turn and give a decent gift.
As some chick with a crew cut and a bad platinum dye job said, "Stop the madness!"
And, to those who still hide behind the old axiom, “It’s the thought that counts,” please email me. I’ve got a lovely purple leotard with yellow trimming for you… Merry fucking Christmas!
