Skip to main content

White Elephant Gone Wrong

I don't like white elephant (WE) gift exchanges. Yes, they may include laughter and good-natured teasing (I prefer bad-natured teasing), but they include the stress of finding the perfect gift. Plus, I don't believe in re-gifting trash. A box full of old magazines is not a good WE gift. No one wants it. Therefore, you are done with the exchange if you pick this gift, which is what happened to Husband.

My viewpoint is not shared with most people. One of those people is my stepmom who in recent years has included WE exchanges at our family Christmas. 

However, this year I was excited. If you have read my blog, you will know Husband is a saver. (We do not use the word hoarder.) We're also trying to get rid of stuff we no longer need. Husband also has friends that give him funny, ridiculous items that he saves. You can see how all this would add up to somehow already having the perfect WE gift. 

So there was hope. I'd already identified it - the velvet picture of a matador killing a bull. It is on the wall in my workout/yoga room, which somehow seems wrong to meditate in front of a sad, dying bull. Getting rid of it would be a double score. 

My request was denied. 

Find something else then, I told him. It shouldn't be difficult. He checks the attic and brings down some items - a broken incense burner, old golf clubs and some sort of rustic, bark-covered mallet. Hmmm. Then I notice the mallet has the words "Women Getter" etched in the handle. This will work. 

It would be even funnier if it's picked by my stepbrother Ryan. He is nice, handsome, gainfully employed, forty and not married. You can understand why Ryan needs a drink at our family gatherings surrounded by woman asking him personal questions.

So I wrap up the mallet, excited that we may have the best gift. And we do, except no one picks it because my nephew Alex decides to lay on top of the mallet for the entire gift exchange. When Husband or I try to coerce him into offering it up for exchange, he only wants it more, wrapping his body around it like a snake. Of course, no one is going to be the jerk who rips a gift away from the sweet five-year-old. And of course, there's an extra gift in the mix so no adult has to take it from him. 

As the exchange winds down, Husband is not pleased. It's a combination of anger at even offering the "Women Getter" combined with the fact a child is going to take it home. He tries to reason with Alex, but to no avail. His frustration is evident, but fortunately he realizes he's on the edge of looking like a jackass so he backs down.

We drive home, having wrapped up another chaotic, over-indulgent holiday with my family. I think we're done with the disappointing WE exchange. 

We are not. Husband's frustration is evident the next day. 

"What's a five year old going to do with the Woman Getter?" (Well, our daughter plays with squirt bottles, so I'm sure he'll figure out something.)

"Frank gave me that as a gift when I was single!" (Well, you shouldn't have put something you're emotionally attached to in a gift exchange.)

Though he didn't verbalize it, the insinuation was that it was pressure from me that caused him to offer up such a prized possession. 

"I hate white elephant gift exchanges." (Finally, something we agree on.)

So there you have it. My dislike of WE gift exchanges will continue. I hope if you participated in one you ended up with something awesome like a boob mug or bad toupee that you can regift at the next exchange. Sadly, I did not take a photo of the Woman Getter, so I can't share its awesomeness. I can, however, share the fine piece of artwork that remains upstairs. Don't be jealous.




Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Get This Party Started

So what do you do when you're reclining in a hospital bed, Olympic beach volleyball on the TV and watching petocin slowly drip through an IV into your arm? You blog. As of 3:32pm, all is manageable. Ask me in an hour or two and the tune will most likely be different. Petocin scares the crap out me, but as long as it gets the baby out of me, I'm trying to not freak out. I woke up this morning and greeted the day as a normal Monday. After walking Trudy a few miles and spending 40 minutes on the elliptical, it dawned on me I felt a little crampy, for lack of a better term. And without getting too graphic, I started to wonder if my water had broken. (It was nothing like it's portrayed on television.) So I called a handful of friends and my sister to get some feedback. All signs pointed to yes, so I called my doctor's office which said just go to the hospital. I took Trudy for a second walk while waiting for Husband to get home and try not to overreact. At the hospi...

Adding Some Color

I distinctly remember my first encounter with food coloring. It was love at first chemical-laden sight. Mom and I were icing sugar cookies. We'd made a bowl of white icing. Then she broke out the food coloring. I was memorized by the bright colors and giddy at the thought of mixing them. Like most six year olds, I believed more was better. So the icing started a lovely pink after a few drops of red. Next came lavender with some blue. Then Mom turned her back just long enough for me to reenact the movie Cocktail with food coloring. Every color was going in and hell with a few drops, more is better. This is fantastic, I thought, as I created a rainbow in the bowl. I stirred with glee until I realized the rainbow was disappearing. The icing was turning a disgusting shade of gray-brown. This was terrible. No one wants to eat icing that looks like poop. So you're thinking, nice little story Jen. Way to point out that more isn't necessarily better. But that's actually n...

The Softride Has Left The Building

Today I bid adieu to my first triathlon bike – a Softride Rocket TT named Sally. (“Ride, Sally, Ride...”) While technically still mine until the ebay auction ends tomorrow, she has been dropped off at the bike store for clean up and packing. We’ll ship her off to the new owner this weekend and that will be the end of my beam bike era. A Softride is considered old school in the triathlon world and is mocked mercilessly by roadies. Sally has a carbon beam, no down tube and 650 wheels – basically the low-rider Cadillac of bikes. While it doesn’t have a stiff suspension or a brag-worthy weight, it has one thing – comfort. This is something I desperately needed when training for my first Ironman. Sally raced at Kona in 2001 and Wisconsin in 2003. She was dependable and attention-getting. Like riding a motorcycle, Softride enthusiasts also offered the casual hand wave when you encountered another one on the road. However, there are fewer out there these days. The Softride...