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I'm on a roll tonight
If there were one name that I would wish to be identified as, it would be She-Who-Wraps. Wrapping Christmas pressies is my favourite part of the holiday season. Despite several holidays together, Steven has yet to understand my wrapping quirk:
I like to wrap pressies so much, I will willingly chose to wrap my own.
I think it comes from years in a dysfunctional family. Christmas in the Takacs house was always an Affair. It would begin with my mother shopping for gifts after Thanksgiving and trying to find a suitable place to hide them. Because I was a child who hated surprises, I would immediately begin the process of "accidentally" finding my gifts. My mum would huff and sigh and then we would wrap them together, sometimes singing carols, sometimes singing Rent! at the top of our lungs. We would further make attempts to find The Perfect Tree at the same time my father would thwart us by sulking and whinging. He would go out and we would sneak the tree and and stealth-decorate so by the time he returned home, there was nothing he could do.
Christmas morning would always begin with my mum pinning my stocking to my door and me dragging into the living room for life-giving coffee. Mum would make pancakes and we would uneasily sit down at the one meal we all ate together during the year. Phase One of the Annual Family Fight was about to begin. My father would finish his breakfast, eye us, and announce it looked like a great day to go skiing. My mum would mumble something about opening gifts and I would transport to the tree in hopes of avoiding The Fight. My father would begin sulking and the tension would mount.
Opening of gifts was always punctuated with ooohs and ahhhs, this is lovely, and Jesus Christ, how the hell much did you spend on her? My father would begin to allow his gaze to drift out over the sparkling white snow while he complained that we hadn't gone to Church and how utterly amazing the skiing would be. My mother and I would slowly shift away while he continued to grumble about skiing so that we could partake in the stocking booty. Around 10 or 11, my father would interrupt whatever was happening and accuse my mother of forbidding him to ski on Christmas Day. Then, it would be on.
She would tell him she said nothing of the sort and he could go if he wanted to. He would call her a liar and say she was trying to keep us (meaning him and me) home. I would tell him I really didn't want to go skiing. He would tell me I was stupid, of course I did. What would I rather do? Sit around in my pyjamas and get fat? My mum would then yell that what he said was uncalled for and to leave me alone. He would accuse her of brainwashing me. I remind him I really didn't like to ski and he'd tell me to shut up. This could go on for up to an hour. Eventually, my mother would announce "Fer chrissakes, go goddamn skiing then!" and my father would yell back "Fine! I will!" and would stalk off. Mum and I would then have a pleasant Christmas dinner by ourselves.
After we moved, I would inevitably wrap my own pressies to put under the tree. Mum did the same. Occasionally, we would buy things and label them "From Santa" as an excuse to splurge. The first Christmas Steven and I were together was strange because he totally didn't get the things that had become routine. He actually expected to wrap pressies for me.
Last year, there was a bit of a tussle about pressie wrapping. I started in and Steven was slightly miffed because I wrapped my own. This year, he just kind of watched me. He felt that he needed to let me know he would have wrapped them if I wanted. I smiled and said I knew. That's true love, right there.
I like to wrap pressies so much, I will willingly chose to wrap my own.
I think it comes from years in a dysfunctional family. Christmas in the Takacs house was always an Affair. It would begin with my mother shopping for gifts after Thanksgiving and trying to find a suitable place to hide them. Because I was a child who hated surprises, I would immediately begin the process of "accidentally" finding my gifts. My mum would huff and sigh and then we would wrap them together, sometimes singing carols, sometimes singing Rent! at the top of our lungs. We would further make attempts to find The Perfect Tree at the same time my father would thwart us by sulking and whinging. He would go out and we would sneak the tree and and stealth-decorate so by the time he returned home, there was nothing he could do.
Christmas morning would always begin with my mum pinning my stocking to my door and me dragging into the living room for life-giving coffee. Mum would make pancakes and we would uneasily sit down at the one meal we all ate together during the year. Phase One of the Annual Family Fight was about to begin. My father would finish his breakfast, eye us, and announce it looked like a great day to go skiing. My mum would mumble something about opening gifts and I would transport to the tree in hopes of avoiding The Fight. My father would begin sulking and the tension would mount.
Opening of gifts was always punctuated with ooohs and ahhhs, this is lovely, and Jesus Christ, how the hell much did you spend on her? My father would begin to allow his gaze to drift out over the sparkling white snow while he complained that we hadn't gone to Church and how utterly amazing the skiing would be. My mother and I would slowly shift away while he continued to grumble about skiing so that we could partake in the stocking booty. Around 10 or 11, my father would interrupt whatever was happening and accuse my mother of forbidding him to ski on Christmas Day. Then, it would be on.
She would tell him she said nothing of the sort and he could go if he wanted to. He would call her a liar and say she was trying to keep us (meaning him and me) home. I would tell him I really didn't want to go skiing. He would tell me I was stupid, of course I did. What would I rather do? Sit around in my pyjamas and get fat? My mum would then yell that what he said was uncalled for and to leave me alone. He would accuse her of brainwashing me. I remind him I really didn't like to ski and he'd tell me to shut up. This could go on for up to an hour. Eventually, my mother would announce "Fer chrissakes, go goddamn skiing then!" and my father would yell back "Fine! I will!" and would stalk off. Mum and I would then have a pleasant Christmas dinner by ourselves.
After we moved, I would inevitably wrap my own pressies to put under the tree. Mum did the same. Occasionally, we would buy things and label them "From Santa" as an excuse to splurge. The first Christmas Steven and I were together was strange because he totally didn't get the things that had become routine. He actually expected to wrap pressies for me.
Last year, there was a bit of a tussle about pressie wrapping. I started in and Steven was slightly miffed because I wrapped my own. This year, he just kind of watched me. He felt that he needed to let me know he would have wrapped them if I wanted. I smiled and said I knew. That's true love, right there.
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gotta love dysfunctional families :(
one Christmas, right after my parents divorced, my dad took us to Meijer (like SuperWalmart) and we picked out our own presents, and then I wrapped Kim's and she wrapped mine and we opened them in front of his family O_o and had to act surprised.
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The only thing I do the night before is stockings.
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At least dysfunctional families make for funny LJ stories.
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So when you wrap your presents from Steven.. you know what they are going to be right?
And I hate wrapping, so I will be fedexing all mine to you with a return label. Could you wrap them and send them back lol!!?!?
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I indeed do know most of what I am getting from him. It's best that he not have surprises for me because I burst into flames when I don't know what I'm getting.
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