And here is where for the first time ever I think I want to type, 'OMG!'
My father had mentioned in passing he already had my winterfest gifting.
I didn't pay it much mind.
Exciting gifts of utter glorious doom are for small children or people with a lot of money/time/imagination. I wasn't the former and my father hadn't decent access to the latter (prior two especially). Hence, I have over the last several years tried to exchange the whole 'presents!' for 'too busy kitchen wenching - here have some wine/lemontart/mincepies/whatever - byyeee!'
My father came back this eve, told me about his day and then said he was having difficulty due to my gifting. I shrugged and asked how it could be fixed. He disappeared and reappeared with a small curvy darling silver Mac Book, new from America a week or so back. I stared.
"Katie asked for a laptop for Christmas as soon as I saw her. But I'd already got this for you. It's a little awkward..."
I continued staring at the silver shiny thing whilst calmly suggesting he give me a written card for christmas, or the jewellery course instead or....
I'm not saintly. I should have said 'give the shiny shiny MacBook to Katie, I have a jewellery course of doom! Besides, Mercy is still working without falling over.'
But I didn't. I'm sorry to say I picked up my laptop, turned it sideways and muttered with undeniable verve, "MERCY! Lookit! New home!!" and therefore in a peculiar Corvidic way, stated my claim.
Whilst I'm not too bad at playing Robin Hood with things which are in potentia (pay pal money, promised money, imaginary neurons-don't-believe-in-it-money and things which I got by chance or don't believe are rightfully mine, or feel like I should pass on anyhow) I confess to being utterly shit at dodging a fait accompli.
In short, tell me you owe me a chocolate bar, and I'll likely try to wriggle out of it. But give me a chocolate bar - of my most favourite sort - and, well, the likelyhood of me being charitable instead of just eating it falls by at least 80%.
===
My father said he had decided I deserved the doomy gift for various reasons. I looked a bit panicked and asked him to elaborate. He said because all the other grovs had borrowed and owed him vast swathes of money. And that out of us all, the only time I'd ever asked for money was the once I asked for rent and I'd returned it the next month.
And I laughed, a sort of unwell laugh. Because for him, that had been nothing, it had been so far beneath his radar of bad-financial-grovly-behaviour he'd barely had time to enter it on his spreadsheet. But for me, it was the end of the bloody world - and indeed I think I tried to end my world. (I quite wanted to tell him so, but I doubted it would make him happy so I didn't.)
...He refused to tell me the other reasons for why he was buying me a shiny Macbook and a jewellery silversmithing course of doom. I wonder weather I should ask...
40% of his reasons at least I'm certain I'd refute point blank. 20% I'd argue against. 10% I'd laugh or wince at and long to tell him my deeply differing interpretation of the subject. Which leaves maybe 30% of 'I actually deserve it'. Ooooh, hello guilt! Oh yey. Damn. Even when sane my brain is messed up.
Oh gods it's late. Shuttup neurons, go sleep, go sleep, you have an early start.
...I'm gonna be brainless and knackered in the morning.
Be well darlings...