(ex)Chchchchchanges

I know it's several months away, but how many times have you said, "It's already September, Christmas is just around the corner"? Well some of you may not have, but in my family this kinda talk starts early. I should be taking it to heart as I have a loooooong list of relatives and friends for which to shop.

Gift giving with my family is not so much fun. In fact, it kinda sucks the fun and the life out of the holidays for me. Last year I suggested that we just donate the money we'd spend to a charity and be done with it. No one wanted to play along. I gave in and it was not unlike the past 30 plus Chritmases we have shared together.

Here's the issue: I really do work hard to find a useful and fitting gift for each person. I think that's why it takes me so long to do my shopping. I am not saying I am always on target, but I try to be in the ballpark or at least tuck in a gift receipt in the event that I just missed it all together.

Therein lies the problem. Christmas is a competition for my mother, head gift buyer at the folks' house. It's a race to the finish, quality and appropriateness be damned. It doesn't matter if it fits. It doesn't matter if you wanted it. It doesn't matter if you hate plaid. It doesn't matter if you already have four of them. Her goal is to mark your name off her list and move on. Make no mistake, you are a number.

It's awful to say and I know I will be struck down by the holiday gods, but I have to come clean on this. It's as if she drew my name out of a hat at church. It's as if a stranger picked out my Christmas gift. I hate whining about this, but understand it's not about me getting anything. I really truly have all that I need. It's the fact that we waste money and time on this.

For example, I keep a journal. I have since I was a child. It's so thoughtful that she got me a journal for Christmas, isn't it? No, think again, it had a cat riding a scooter on it. The cat even had little rhinestones on its collar. Who can write serious thoughts in a journal with a scooter-riding cat on it.

Behind door number two we find a sweater covered in a unique pattern: white cats with one strategically placed red cat on the front where my right breast would be if I had chosen to even put it on. What makes this gift particularly special is that she spied it while we were at the mall, and said, "Isn't that cute?" to which I replied, "Not really, I couldn't bring myself to wear it." Imagine my surprise to unwrap it December 25. How did I respond? "Oh my" was all I could muster.

Let me make this clear, I like to own cats as pets. I don't want to wear them. I don't want to display them. I don't want them on my license plate. I don't want them on any kind of plate. I want the live, furry kind and I am at my limit on those.

There are many, many more examples, but they are just too painful to relive. I will add that she doesn't believe in providing gift receipts as she thinks it is rude to return anything. Again, it doesn't matter if it fits. It doesn't matter if you don't like cat sweaters. It's yours to keep. . . a gift from the heart (or hell).

That puts even more pressure on me. I DO NOT want to be known for buying sucky gifts. I want to be known world over for finding just the right thing to tickle your fancy (and not in that way). I spend too many hours, too much money and too much grief on picking out the perfect gift.

That brings me to my second point. You could give that woman a million dollars and she'd just give you a sideways grin and move to the next package.

Maybe I should get her a cute little cat sweater and socks to match. Then she could mutter, "Oh, my." Or maybe a golden glitter encrusted pig for her mantle. I know just where I can get one.