The thrilling present-wrapping post
I don't know why it is, but I am hopeless at wrapping presents. This is a source of frustration not only for me, but for Tery, who is maddeningly efficient, using exactly the right amount of paper and tape, and even topping the gift off with a fancy Martha-style ribbon for added beauty. My presents, on the other hand, more closely resemble something that's been handled by an especially bitter postal worker.
This deficiency of wrapping skills started back as early as high school. I remember dreading the start of the school year for the obvious reasons, homework, forced to wear new clothes, annoying peers and cliques, but above all else the annual task of wrapping our textbooks with covers to protect them. I don't even know if kids still do this nowadays or if I will sound like a fossil writing about this. Oh, how I despised this activity. No matter how carefully I worked, my books always ended up either so loose that they fell right out of the cover, or so tight that the book couldn't even be closed. Even when my father brought home specially printed covers that helpfully provided guidelines for folding and cutting, it always ended in yelling and tears, and someone else taking over after I'd wasted an hour or two of my life for nothing.
I never expected the need for this skill that I never acquired would follow me through life, sapping all the joy out of gift-giving for me. Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries, all have the black, ominous cloud of present-wrapping hanging over them for me. I measure the paper carefully, cutting what seems like more than enough for the job. Invariably, one of two things happen: either I misjudge and cut too little, or I cut too much, and then in an effort to make it more tidy, cut off too much and again end up with too little. If I don't have another gift better suited to the resulting segment of paper, then to avoid being wasteful (again a product of my father's upbringing) I try to salvage it, pathetically adding smaller bits of paper to strategically cover gaps clearly revealing what is inside. Secure the whole thing with twice as much tape as should be needed, and voila! another hideous mess lovingly hand-wrapped just for you.
I'm only mentioning this because I had the brilliant idea of mailing my sister's gift (her Crocs had arrived at last) in a brown-paper wrapped shoebox with smaller presents inside along with the shoes. (See, I know my limits enough to know that trying to wrap a pair of shoes in a bag will result in only yelling and tears.) Inexplicably, the Mailboxes, Etc across the street didn't have brown postal paper for sale. Model cars and vibrating hand massagers, yes. Basic shipping and packing supplies, not so much. I'm thinking of suing them for false advertising and making them change their name before more innocent people wanting to mail things are suckered in. So my only option was to stop at the supermarket on my way to the post office and get paper there. I already suspected this, but if you think wrapping presents on the flat surface of a living room floor is diabolically difficult, try doing it in the front seat of your car. It got done, but only with the clever use of strategically placed panels covering the gaping holes, twice as much tape as should be necessary, and some yelling and tears.
So if you get a present this year that looks like it was wrapped by a mentally-handicapped and/or blind person, chances are it is from me. Merry Christmas!
This deficiency of wrapping skills started back as early as high school. I remember dreading the start of the school year for the obvious reasons, homework, forced to wear new clothes, annoying peers and cliques, but above all else the annual task of wrapping our textbooks with covers to protect them. I don't even know if kids still do this nowadays or if I will sound like a fossil writing about this. Oh, how I despised this activity. No matter how carefully I worked, my books always ended up either so loose that they fell right out of the cover, or so tight that the book couldn't even be closed. Even when my father brought home specially printed covers that helpfully provided guidelines for folding and cutting, it always ended in yelling and tears, and someone else taking over after I'd wasted an hour or two of my life for nothing.
I never expected the need for this skill that I never acquired would follow me through life, sapping all the joy out of gift-giving for me. Christmas, birthdays, anniversaries, all have the black, ominous cloud of present-wrapping hanging over them for me. I measure the paper carefully, cutting what seems like more than enough for the job. Invariably, one of two things happen: either I misjudge and cut too little, or I cut too much, and then in an effort to make it more tidy, cut off too much and again end up with too little. If I don't have another gift better suited to the resulting segment of paper, then to avoid being wasteful (again a product of my father's upbringing) I try to salvage it, pathetically adding smaller bits of paper to strategically cover gaps clearly revealing what is inside. Secure the whole thing with twice as much tape as should be needed, and voila! another hideous mess lovingly hand-wrapped just for you.
I'm only mentioning this because I had the brilliant idea of mailing my sister's gift (her Crocs had arrived at last) in a brown-paper wrapped shoebox with smaller presents inside along with the shoes. (See, I know my limits enough to know that trying to wrap a pair of shoes in a bag will result in only yelling and tears.) Inexplicably, the Mailboxes, Etc across the street didn't have brown postal paper for sale. Model cars and vibrating hand massagers, yes. Basic shipping and packing supplies, not so much. I'm thinking of suing them for false advertising and making them change their name before more innocent people wanting to mail things are suckered in. So my only option was to stop at the supermarket on my way to the post office and get paper there. I already suspected this, but if you think wrapping presents on the flat surface of a living room floor is diabolically difficult, try doing it in the front seat of your car. It got done, but only with the clever use of strategically placed panels covering the gaping holes, twice as much tape as should be necessary, and some yelling and tears.
So if you get a present this year that looks like it was wrapped by a mentally-handicapped and/or blind person, chances are it is from me. Merry Christmas!