Christmas Message Presents

Christmas Presents can sometimes send a message. The yard of cheese I once gifted someone hasn’t been mentioned for a few years now, but for a time it was the most memorable present I ever gave. Sadly, it was sort of a classic of random thoughtlessness on my part. Clearly not the impression I was out to make. Worse than mere thoughtlessness—which can happen to anyone (he said, self-servingly)—is the dreaded Message Present.

The Message Present is designed to change the recipient’s behavior in some way. A direct form of this would be the gift of body odor masking spray anonymously left on a co-workers desk. The genre takes on a more tragic and dispiriting form when it comes from a loved one wrapped up in Christmas tidings. Nothing blackens the heart more than a gift certificate for a complete make-over. Ditto clothing someone KNOWS you do not wear or a closet organizer (or any kind of organizer for that matter.) Woe to those souls who have ever conceived of giving Hooked on Phonics or a dating service membership to another living being. I don’t know why someone would use the ritual of present exchange as an opportunity to express a personal negative opinion, but they do. More often than not our gifter has the most noble of intentions: they are out to do something for the giftee that he/she would not do for themselves.

For those of you who may be tempted to use this season to lend such a well warranted helping hand in the form of Christmas glee, I have one sole piece of advice: Don’t. Just throw socks and a gift certificate to Best Buy. No matter how certain you are of your perception or pure in spirit your motives, you are destined to come off as the self involved boob that you really are. And your plan won’t work, either.

Allow me to illustrate. I had a co-worker whose parents were not great housekeepers. They had come by their lack of tidiness somewhat glacially. At one point they had to consolidate two houses worth of furniture into one. They had intended to obtain a second house shortly, so the overage of furniture was retained. ‘Shortly’ eventually became ‘eventually’ and then an adult child moved back in and, over time, the situation spiraled out of control. With three people banging around a space that is already crammed, the useable areas began to aggregate ‘stuff’. This would happen under ideal conditions, but it was compounded by the fact that no one involved was particularly tidy to begin with.

It drove my co-worker completely up a wall. There is a breed of human for whom another person’s mess constitutes an urgent cause of action. In the imaginations of such people ‘health hazards’ grow where mere twelve foot piles of newspapers precariously perched on a chairs flush with the stove merely exist. Being the helpful sort, my co-worker has occasionally shown up at the parents’ place with Hefty Bags in hand, merrily offering to throw this or that out. There have also been offers of perhaps taking a week or so off and showing up with a dumpster—providing that room on the driveway can be made available. Calling the sibling in residence a ‘tard’ every other breath may have been over the line, but in general my co-worker has attempted to assist as politely as his nature will allow.

All to no avail. It ain’t working. Worse than simply being not cooperative, the natives are actually doubling up and making the cleaned areas worse than they ever were. Visions of tipping off the health department are now dancing in his mind. But then he hatches a plan.

He gets them a dog.

Insert Here: Probable Result.

The thinking here was that they would have to clean up after the dog. While they are cleaning up after the dog, they might also take the opportunity to clean up (read: throw out) a few other things. Perhaps some now twenty plus years out of date unused furniture might also leave, to give the dog places to roam unfettered. Walking the dog might introduce them to new people whose houses are not crammed with furnishings whom they may want to have by. At the very least, walking the dog will provide partial treatment for the trio’s fatness problem. Yes, this dog will be the wonder product which works wonders.

Two years later: the dog is fat. He has never been walked or even really trained. As for the house, it’s unspeakable.

My co-worker’s Christmas smells like dog poop.

Coda:

That’s it for me until New Years. I am about to ritually kill some paycheck and spend time as a family tow unit. And have a great time doing it!

Merry Christmas!