December is upon us once again. This means that along with pulling out the tangled string of lights and rusty tetanus-ridden ornament hooks, we wrestle with age-old holiday traditions. Some of them survive from year to year because we enjoy them. Others we observe but secretly wish they would disappear and find their way to the closet of the Ghost of Christmas Past next to the Yule log and door-to-door carolers.
One of these less desirable traditions for me is the office gift exchange, where there are suggested minimums and maximums for the dollar amount to be spent. Many times we purchase things for people we don't even like, or worse yet, grab some holiday recyclable from the “gift drawer”. If I'm told what I can and can’t spend on someone I only see at the water cooler, is this really a gift or is it just another checkmark on my to-do list? I have enough in my inbox without having to worry about buying something for the corporate brownnoser or the coworker who insists on being a chatty Charlie in the men’s room.
I'm not certain where holiday gift giving came from, but I'd guess it dates back to the wise men who brought gifts to Mary and Joseph. These guys showed up with frankincense and myrrh. If that’s not the ultimate re-gifter I don’t know what is. Were these wise men or just wiseacres? What smartass would bring scented herbs to a baby shower? Hopefully one of them had the courtesy to bring a receipt for Christ’s sake. Not that it would do the Holy Mother any good. You know those camel cruisers got that from some store in Persia, so unless it was from an international chain the Blessed Virgin doesn't have a snowball's chance in hell of taking it back for a refund.
If you are reading this and contemplating getting me a gift for Christmas, consider this permission not to. If you are contemplating getting me a baby shower gift, just remember: swaddling clothes—yes; potpourri—no.
Monday, 5 December 2005
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