This photo is from when I was seven, and what I like about it is that Mother posed me as if I had anything to do with wrapping all those presents. This is how I know I didn’t: they look pretty good. I was, and continue to be to this day, the worst wrapper of gifts. Mother was adept at it. Lynne is amazing. So was Steve R–his gifts were wrapped like little works of art.
When I sit down to wrap gifts, it becomes The Christmas Moron: A Comedy in One Act. I’m sitting in the SAME spot. How do I repeatedly lose my pen, the tape, and the name tags? Why is all the paper I cut the wrong size even when I’ve done all the tricks to make sure it’s right? Why, when I’m cutting the paper, do the scissors take on a life of their own, weaving and bobbing like Otis Campbell the Mayberry Town Drunk? And why, when I thought I picked up the brand new roll of tape, does it turn out to be the one that runs out? Or the one with the defective jagged thingies that mangle and twist the tape?
By the time I’m through, I’m all MERRY FREAKING CHRISTMAS.
Today I received a catalog in the mail from Home Decorators Collection. (This is NOT a sponsored post.) As I was idly paging through it, I spotted this little darling piece of furniture:
The one in the catalog was a color called “Rhododendron Leaf,” but no matter. For a moment, I might have drooled. I imagined a life of wrapping gifts and packages to be mailed with everything right at hand, all organized and pretty. I understood why Candy Spelling had one room just for this purpose in her 123-room mansion.
Then I remembered I didn’t win that stupid Powerball, and I went in search of another roll of tape while a dog hair tumbleweed drifted across the floor.