At Times I Am Downright Maniacal

The other day was my mother’s birthday! (She reads this, so it would be super nice of you to wish her a happy belated) And, dutiful and loving son that I am, I planned to take her out to dinner. Since I am a poor planner as well, I had to go to the mall and buy her present in the small window of time between getting out of work and going to dinner. I had planned on getting her one of those little baby iPods, since she’d been lamenting the loss of her old one, but she managed to buy herself one a scant three days before her birthday. (Note: I catch hell for buying anything at all for myself for an entire month before Christmas so I don’t think that was particularly cool.) I picked up a nice car-adapter-slash-charger for her and then it was off to the fancy gift wrapping store, and that’s where I was swindled by a no-good trollop.

I entered the store which was manned (Womanned? Girled maybe.) by a young lady about my age who was fairly good looking. She greeted me, I returned fire, and then began to wander the store. I have a curse. I cannot wrap presents well. My gifts have the aesthetic effect of “Oh look how cute! You let your five year old try and wrap the presents!” So imagine my excitement to see a wide selection of gift bags. Jackpot. After careful examinations, including holding the present up to the bag to make sure it would fit, I selected a blue bag with big pink flowers on it. Since even I know it is poor form to just toss the present in a bag and let it flop around loose, I turned to the tissue paper. I managed to find paper in the exact shade of blue as the bag. This was going to be one classy looking present. I take my selections to the girl behind the counter and as she rings me up we exchange small talk. She puts my things in a shopping bag with a humming bird on it (Yes indeed, a bag for my bag, thank you.) which I stuffed into the bag the iPod people had given me.

I rushed home and went to “wrap” my present. Let’s see. The bag opens like this, the box goes in like that, and the tissue paper goes… wait. Wait. Where is my tissue paper? I frantically search my bags. No dice. I had dumped all my things out on my bed, was it somehow lost under the covers? Nada. I had carried everything in bundled in my coat, maybe it was stuck in a sleeve? Don’t be ridiculous.

That strumpet! Ten dollars for a bag and tissue paper and then she doesn’t give me the paper? Curséd woman! Painted jezebel! Taken by a hussy! She rings me up, flashes me a smile, and then she can re-sell the paper to the next chump! Before the anger can truly grasp me, I try and step back and think about it logically. Jeff, I tell myself, because that is my name and therefore how I address myself, Jeff, maybe it’s not like that. You could be right, Jeff, you clever thing, you. Let’s consider a more logical alternative. Perhaps she simply made a mistake? Indeed, my old friend, that could be the case. Let us consider the situation from her shoes. Here she is, doing her job, and a devilishly handsome fellow comes up to buy gift wrap. An exciting change of pace from the little old ladies that usually occupy the store. You raise an excellent point, myself! My countenance has been well known to set ladies all a-tingle. Could be that in her fluster, she simply left the paper on the counter? Mollified, I took the bag with the present flopping around loose inside (poor form, I know!) and presented it to my mother, explaining my folly at the hands of a harlot. The present is a hit, I am hero-son, let’s go to dinner, I’ll drive. My mother has to clear a bit of debris off the passenger seat before she can get in…

Including a slim package of bright blue tissue paper.

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