The older I get, the less I like Christmas gifts (shopping for them, anyway) and the more I wish I could officially reserve holiday presents solely for children, who are so demonstrative and easy to impress that they make even the most gigantic hassle worthwhile for the looks on their faces when they come downstairs on Christmas morning.
Adults, though? Unless they can provide an unforced, enthusiastic and over-the-top display of appreciation for that flannel shirt, they should have to lug themselves to L.L. Bean and buy their own goldarned fuzzy slippers.
Sometimes, though, you’re made to feel like a great big Grinch if you don’t like shopping for holiday presents for your family and friends.
Oh, just look at the lights and decorations and listen to the jolly music at the stores, you old curmudgeon, you! It’s a delight soaking in all that holiday fun!
There’s a commonly experienced but little-talked-about feeling — well-documented in movies, TV shows and books — of great weariness that descends upon the shoulders of those who are shopping at Christmastime. But we’re expected to behave as if that’s not true for us, as if we’re doing it all with a smile. Meanwhile, the only ones naive enough to actually enjoy digging through piles of pre-wrapped cat pajamas for a gift for Aunt Glinda are the folks who make those cheesy Hallmark movies where the big-city girl moves to a small town and falls in love with a Christmas tree farmer.
Besides, the only problem a gift solves is the problem of not having the present itself. If you need an air fryer and get an air fryer for Christmas, the only way in which you are improved is in the metric of “has an air fryer.” You’re not funnier or smarter or nicer. You have no more friends than you did before, unless you can convince someone to hang out with you based solely on your newfound ability to cook them crispy chicken tenders without turning on your oven — not particularly compelling, in my book.
There are, it must be acknowledged, people for whom gift-giving and -receiving is a luxury out of reach. There are poor children whose parents have no money for piling presents under the tree. There are soldiers in the Army serving in faraway places who can only dream of walking through a mall in search of just the right pair of leather gloves for grandma.
But no one has ever been inspired to greater enjoyment of peas after being told of the starving kids in other countries who’d kill to have that tuna casserole on your plate, mister. And I am equally uninspired by guilt over my considerable fortune into experiencing greater enjoyment of wrapping presents on Christmas Eve until 3 in the morning, sitting on the floor until my back seizes up and my feet go numb.
In short, I know I have it good, but I still hate all the holiday shopping.
Every year, I tell myself I’m keeping the list short this year. Only close family are making the cut.
OK, well, close family and really good friends who might also be getting me presents, leaving me humiliated if I don’t reciprocate.
Hmmm … close family and really good friends and the kids’ teachers and my office Secret Santa and a couple of presents for Toys for Tots and the white elephant party present, plus something small for the babysitter and the newspaper deliveryman and the soccer coach, and apparently Uncle Ralph has decided to come to Christmas dinner and he won’t have anything to open during the gift exchange after he cut his son off for getting a COVID vaccine.
Oh, also, honey, the postal carrier left an envelope in the mailbox the other day with her name written on it in all capitals so we won’t get the spelling wrong, so maybe a gift card there, too.
Online shopping has streamlined the misery a bit. Instead of trudging through Macy’s for hours, ticking off each name on my list with a pro-forma purchase, I just scroll the Macy’s website for an equally interminable length of time. I wind up with a pile of brown boxes in the basement, threatening me, until I open them all on Christmas Eve to discover that Amazon sent the wrong Pokemon card deck and it’s too late to exchange it.
But though I am resentful, I am also resigned.
This is my fate as an American: I consume. I make lists and I shop and I buy, and only the fall of Western Civilization could change my yearly wintertime fate.
In one way, at least, it increases my anticipation of the day itself. On Dec. 25, I’m full of holiday cheer, for the greatest joy of the season has arrived: It’s the day the Christmas shopping is all done.
To learn more about Georgia Garvey, visit GeorgiaGarvey.com.
Photo credit: Liza Springer at Unsplash
