O Holey Night!

I sat, hands clammy, trying to avoid the nine pairs of eyes that were on me. I had stalled as long as possible but I couldn’t delay the inevitable any longer. 

“Your turn,” someone said.

With the enthusiasm of a death row inmate, I made my way across the room. 

I picked up my bag and reluctantly began handing out gifts.

Most people, when they hand out gifts, smile and say, “I hope you like it,” or “I think this will be perfect for you.”

I say, “I’m sorry.”

Nine friends. Nine lackluster gifts. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry …”

My apologies sounded as if I was in Confession.

Forgive me Father, for I have shopped. And I have shopped badly.

My friends, of course, were all smiles and seem generally hopeful as if they’ve all forgotten what a lame gift giver I am.

“I’m so excited,” one of them said.

Don’t be. 

It’s a blanket that I got on Amazon that I, too, was initially excited about because who can’t use another cozy blanket? Marcia, from Idaho, gave it 5 stars and referred to it as “plush” and “luxurious.”

But Marcia is a pathological liar because in reality, it’s about as soft as a burlap sack.

Unfortunately, it was too late to return it and find something else for our annual holiday gift exchange.

But my friends didn’t want to hurt my feelings. “I love it. It keeps you warm AND exfoliates your skin!” one of them said.

I sighed. 

I just couldn’t compete with this group of women, all of whom always purchase the most thoughtful gifts.

“I chose this sweater because it’s made from Tibetan sheep. I had the wool dyed cerulean blue to match your eyes.”

“Here’s a candle that has scents of plumeria – that’s your favorite, right? – and I had handprints of your granddaughter etched in the glass.”

“I picked out this hummingbird feeder because I know you love hummingbirds,” I ducked as something flew over my head. “Also, it comes with real hummingbirds.”

But this year, I finally got smart and called for back-up. With the help of my sister-in-law, Catherine, a jewelry designer, we collaborated on the perfect gift. 

And by “collaborated,” I mean, Catherine said, “This is what you’re getting them,” and I nodded like a simpleton.

We (She) decided on beautiful handcrafted silver keychains. Catherine etched their favorite animal in the silver disk, and attached their favorite flower on the small ring, along with their birthstone. Beautiful, classy, useful.

The keychains were scheduled to arrive on Wednesday and the party was Saturday.

In other good news, we decided to forgo fancy holiday attire for pajamas and robes.

So, not only would I be handing out “non-sucky”gifts, I would be doing so in a comfy manner.

On Tuesday, the gifts arrived in Santa Barbara (an hour from me), which meant I would soon see those 3 magical words…

OUT FOR DELIVERY!

On Wednesday, they hadn’t left Santa Barbara.

Hey, we all love Santa Barbara, but giddyup!

Thursday, still there. 

On a positive note, I purchased Grinch pajamas.

On Friday, my keychains were finally on the move again. However, instead of “Out for Delivery,” some postal genius decided to reroute them to a distribution center in Riverside, 150 miles the other direction.

If we were playing Hot-Hot-Cold, two days ago, I was warm. Now, I was cold. Oh, so cold.

“I’m sure they’ll be here any minute,” my husband, Steve, assured me on Saturday.

Poor naive Steve, having faith in the US Postal Service.

I arrived at the party to an assortment of beautifully wrapped gifts under the tree.

Nobody realized I hadn’t brought anything so I dropped a few subtle hints.

“You know what they say, It’s better to give than receive.”

“Less is more!”

“I think friendship is probably the best gift of all!”

When it was time to exchange gifts, I took off my robe, and sat down. My heart was racing and my body felt cold, especially my left buttcheek. Weird.

Once all the fabulous gifts had been dispersed, it was my turn. Nine sets of eyes turned to me. I walked to the center of the room.

“We’re so excited,” somebody said.

Didn’t these people learn?

In fairness, I had bragged that they were going to LOVE their gifts this year.

Everyone was smiling and chattering, and the room was abuzz with holiday cheer.

That is until I started crying.

It’s amazing how fast you can bring down a party if you just stand in the middle of the room and sob.

As my friends stared at me, I sniffled and explained why I had showed up at the party with big boxes of nothing.

Nobody responded. Some avoided my eyes. Others shifted uncomfortably in their seats.

I just stood, my backside freezing.

Where was that draft coming from?
That’s when one of my friends tip-toed over to me and whispered, “You have a hole in your pajamas and we can all see your butt.”

She’s kidding!

I put my hand on my backside, feeling around.

She’s NOT kidding!

Then I took a look in the hallway mirror. All of the Grinch, and Max’s face … chewed to smithereens! All that was left was a gaping hole. 

I knew right away it was my dog, Dixie.

Whenever I don’t put away my laundry, she snacks on the nether regions of my clothes.

“We’re not sure if she’s a perv, or she just likes a tidy house,” I told my friends.

They had additional questions.

“Does she chew on tops, or only bottoms?”

“Does she eat Steve’s shorts too?”

“Do you want to put your robe back on?”

Then we all had a good laugh and holiday cheer was restored.

I made a mental note. 

Crying at party: Crowd Killer. 

Mildly exposing yourself at a party: Crowd Pleaser.

Two days later, I delivered the keychains and they were a big hit.

Of course, next year, I’ll have to do this all over again, so, please, send gift ideas!

And new pajamas.