(I might be a little bit pregnant.)
My mom started laughing nervously after dinner last night. “First of all, I went to the mall to try to find you a present, and you know how I hate the mall.”
“I do know that.”
“And I looked and looked for a present but had no idea what to get you and there was so much stuff going on and so many stores and it was crowded...”
“So you panicked and bought whatever was in front of you?”
“YES! I’m so sorry. I don’t know. There was a kiosk and I didn’t know what to do and I bought a bunch of things from it and I’m sorry!” she said apologetically as she handed me a white plastic bag with four headbands inside with humongous sequin and feather flowers larger than my head, a pile of pastel jewelry, and some earrings that were pretty cute.
“It’s OK, mom” I giggled.
“But isn’t the necklace pretty?” She said.
“It’s very pretty,” I agreed.
“You don’t like it.”
“It’s just that I can’t wear pastels; it doesn’t go with anything I have. But you like it! You should keep it!”
Some people are blessed with the gift-giving gene, and some people are...not. My poor mother. She has absolutely no idea what to buy her children, but she really wants to buy things for us. This results in a motley vision of plastic bags wrapped around oddly-colored (yet cashmere!) sweater-sets from DI, strange matching jewelry that we’d never wear, Japanese-inspired poly-silk robes, inexplicable items from Ross Dress For Less, or satin shoes (what?)
The other problem is that she buys things, stashes them, and can’t remember where she put them. Half of Christmas morning she spends walking around saying, “I thought I got something else for you guys...I wonder where they went.” There’s the year she gave my sister the same pair of flannel pajamas she gave her the year before. It’s kind of endearing.
“How about this, “ I suggested, “We go back to the mall together, return these things, and you can spring for a nice pair of flats.”
“OK,” she concedes, “And I’m SORRY.”