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Thursday, December 28, 2006
interesting read

Gift offensive - by Shane Watson

Everyone has their worst Christmas present ever. Mine was a saltcellar, in the days before I had a kitchen or any reason to cook. My father once gave my mother an umbrella for Christmas (famously, her present low point) and she used it to bash him on the head, there and then. It was the moment when I understood why we mind about Christmas presents, because in them we see how other people see us — or how little they have bothered to look.
The worst presents might be devoid of thought, or heaving with assumptions the giver has made about you — and it’s debatable which is more depressing. The pungent turquoise bath oil, when all scented products give you galloping eczema? Or the small book on the exotic spa retreats of the rich and famous, aka “a present for a shallow woman with no interests”? Either will make you feel considerably less loved and appreciated than you did before, which is something you want to avoid in a present. I have a friend with webbed feet who once got three sets of toe socks for Christmas, but she was much more disappointed by the beauty gift voucher her husband produced last year. To her, it said that he’d given up trying; a peephole bra in the wrong size would have been preferable.

You might loosely call those the negative presents. Then there’s one stage on from negative, which is offensive. An offensive present can come in many forms. My favourite is the one that would have been ideal for the girlfriend before you. The one-size-fits-all present is a blow to the heart and the ego: it reminds you that you are just one in a long line of more or less indistinguishable blondes, and that another model will be along soon. There’s also the obviously-on-sale present (the almost-nice cashmere cardigan, but in peach and a size too big), and the someone-else-chose-it present (perfectly nice, but creepily specific to some other woman’s taste — dark velvet pillows for the bed... why?).

And no list of offensive presents is complete without the nonpresents (essential-oil burners, nests of bowls, random bath products) that are so bland and pointless, it’s like receiving a bottle of water with a note that reads: “Dear whoever you are, here is something with no discernible taste. Consider yourself dealt with.”

Finally, there are the killer bad presents. These come in two categories: thoughtless, cheap and as potentially useful to the giver as to you (this includes umbrellas), and the one that I regard as most soul-destroying: the what-are-we-going-to-do-with-this? present.

You know them only too well. We all have a stash tucked away in a drawer somewhere: the bottle of scent, the novelty teapot, the surprisingly small photo album. There is stuff in there that might well make someone happy, but that person isn’t you, or anyone you know — which is how you can be sure that these presents will never find a home. Unless — you haven’t, have you?
scribbled at 7:09 am .::.