You never know how terrifying Christmas morning can be until your dad spends the whole present budget on a unicycle for your mom. I remember the wrapped box was huge and gleaming, leaning against the wall for days before December 25th, and we were all—mom included—so excited, wondering what it could be. And then, when she opened it: silence. I thought it was super cool, but then mom said:
“You’re trying to kill me.”
My father was a genius at surprises—most years. But that year he definitely crossed a line. At first, I thought mom was being horrible about the unicycle, but in the weeks that followed I began to understand more about what a gift can actually say to the recipient. She took that damned unicycle down to the basement where she practiced in anger, tears, and bruises, never managing to master it.
That was in the 70s, when gift buying was about putting in the legwork. Well, today is Cyber Monday, ending a 4-day ape-to-man ritual of shopping that starts with Thanksgiving—a day of pre-atonement-by-scarcity (even Panera is closed!)—before transitioning into a day of shopping violence, followed by a day of pious boutiquing. Sunday is the re-up day at Wegmans (seriously, there’s no beef ravioli left? That’s bs right there), and then Monday is all about pretending to work when you’re actually reading user reviews of calligraphy pens, digital thermometers, and rum cake samplers.
Gifts still suck, but gifting has evolved. Gone is the legwork component, so the pressure is on ingenuity that few of us have, and those who do are too tired from NaNoWriMo to use it. Plus, we all have access to the same resources, which underscores the meaninglessness of the whole enterprise. Luckily, return policies are more generous—an option not available to my dad, apparently. I have no idea where he purchased that unicycle, but my guess is that it was not from a trusted unicycle dealership.
That said, I’m still excited about the crap exchange that will conclude 2018. While I’m told I’m tough to buy for, I feel like I was born for the age. I like the basics: food, wine, books, movies, socks. That’s it. I’m the gal that gift cards were made for. Just go to that magical end cap at your local grocery, get me 25 bucks worth of anything, and I’ll be thrilled. Gift cards are the presents that say, “Go there, dummy. Get something.” I find that touching. See, I’d never have a Starbucks coffee if it weren’t for your card. I haven’t been in a Body Works since my niece went off to pharmacy school, so maybe you want to send me there. And the Bass Pro shops? Practically a land of mystery, and I’m ready for adventure.
And I’m especially ready for the Pandamoon Publishing secret Santa thing. We are a group of creatives with a pretty cheap spending limit, so the results can be, um, interesting. Heck, half the pandas haven’t even updated their wish-lists, they’re all just: “Bring on the weird.” And maybe that’s one solution: scale down and get interesting. Curate more than acquire. I guess I’m saying, that the unicycle had been a quirky charm on a bracelet, my mom would still love it today.