Everybody has that one family member who always gives them a really bad gift for Christmas. For me, that person was my grandmother. She was a sweetheart of a lady, and I loved her dearly, but she was the worst gift giver I have ever known.
Before I get a bunch of emails about how insensitive I am and how on Christmas it’s not about the gifts, it’s the thought that counts, let me first say BULLSHIT! You and I both know it is all about the gifts, if it wasn’t than Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas. Besides, I’m pretty sure the 3 wise men would have gotten there asses kicked by God and the Virgin Mary had they rolled up to the manger and said “we come bearing thoughts”. It’s baby freaking Jesus, you better be loaded down with gifts, and if you’re not, maybe you aren’t a wise man after all, you’re a cheap skate bastard who is just wishing for a holy ass whoopin.
My grandmother loved to give things to people. It came naturally because she was such a kind woman. But just because she loved to give gifts doesn’t mean she was good at it. Every year without fail, my grandmother would give one person in the family a pair of house shoes, regardless of whether they needed them (or wanted them). Also, without fail, she would give somebody in the family a robe. Nobody in my family ever figured out why she did this, but I swear to you, she was as consistent as Old Faithful. You could almost bet you were going to get house shoes if, about 3 months before Christmas, she asked you the question you didn’t want to get asked, “Honey, what size shoe do you wear?”
Now you would think that if you didn’t get the house shoes or the robe you might be in good shape, but with my grandmother you never really new. Don’t get me wrong, some years I got some OK stuff. One year she got me a watch, nothing fancy but it was decent. But it’s those years when you don’t get the OK stuff that really leave you scratching your head.
One year, when I was maybe 11, she gave me a set of poker chips. Not the cool poker chips that you see now a days, no, I’m talking about those old school poker chips made of cardboard type materials. The really sad part was that the poker chips were used. I know this because the chips were discolored. The red was pink, they white was grey and the blue was sky blue. To this day, I don’t honestly know why she chose to give her 11-year-old grandson poker chips, but what puzzles me even more is that she didn’t even give me any cards, JUST POKER CHIPS! That was it, that is all I got that year from my grandmother, a set of old, used and faded poker chips. Oh, and of course I got a box of chocolate covered cherries, just like all the grandkids got, every single year. We always told her we hated them, but she didn’t care nor did she want to hear it.
The only thing worse than chocolate covered cherries is nothing. They should change the name to “Big Round Balls of Shit in a Box”.
Continue on to Part 2