The Re-Gifting of Christmas Past

It's Boxing day.  Except there are no leftovers to box up.  And no guests to give it to.  The Chick couldn't get a day off until later in the week, so the big dinner is yet to come.
 
We have a new house this year, and our bikes are still new enough.  There's always stuff we want, of course, but nothing we really need.  

So Popeye said, "No presents." 

And I agreed.  "No presents."

Then suddenly, on Christmas Eve, Popeye had a vision. 

A Christmas vision.  Of a Christmas-yet-to-be.

He saw a long Christmas Day at home, with no guests, no toys to play with, no gadgetry to decipher. 

In a sudden urge to change this dismal future, he decided he wanted to go to the mall with 45 minutes to closing.

After receiving a solemn promise that we would be done in time to buy a turkey on the way home, I finally agreed to go shopping.  Not to the actual mall, but rather to the far side of the mall.  The stores that make up the hinterlands of the mall.  Sports Authority.  Best Buy.  Chain restaurants.  A movie theatre.  

Gadgets and restaurants are tolerable to my shopping phobia.  Clothing and shoe stores are not.  Especially on Christmas eve.  

Twenty minutes in.  We are relaxed, under no pressure.  "Just looking," we tell the clerk. 

Others do not have this immunity.  No one is there to shop. Everyone is there to buy, and the sky's the limit.  We find it is fun to observe the feverish crowd, as long as you are not among the infected.

I would have been fine with the simple joy of closing down Best Buy on Christmas Eve.  After all, there would be an hour left to do the real shopping.  That is, to buy a turkey at Publix on the way home. 

But somehow I ended up with a Kindle. 

And Popeye got... nothing. 

Not only that, but all our favorite indulgences dangle right there on the fringes of the mall.  Following this night of witnessing the true fever of gifting, neither of us has the willpower to ignore such carrots of distraction as beer, nachos, a movie.  

Suddenly it was midnight Christmas eve. 

Popeye had changed his Christmas future by officially getting me a present.  He now had a gadget to figure out on Christmas morning, while my big Christmas day project - the turkey dinner - had turned into the simplicity of leftover chili. 

Not only that, but there I was empty handed.  Santa's zero hour!  And no hope of acquiring a decent present to put under the tree (the tree that we hadn't put up) by morning.  

In that time honored tradition of Christmas desperation, I did as so many have done before.   

I re-gifted.

Up in the attic, wedged up under the shelter of brand new trusses still smelling of sawdust, sits a popular present from a few years ago and I clump over the floorboards as quietly as I can to fetch it.  Perfect!  I tie on a nice red ribbon from the wrappings box, and stash it away in the garage for morning. 

OK, so the ribbon that looked red in the attic lighting turned out to be pink in the light of Christmas morning.  The tire was soft, and the sidewalls were a tad yellowed, but it was a hit anyway.  As soon as he got the Kindle set up, he pumped up the tire and went out to play.

How to ride a unicycle:

Start by finding something to hang on to.

Then just be as tenacious as all get out.

With the new Kindle all to myself, I sit down to shop for a book.  I spend 99 cents right away.  No guilt, though.  You never know.  Surviving The Zombie Apocalypse could end up saving us both someday.  It's not the gift but the spirit of sharing it that counts, right? 

Thank goodness we both like chili.
 

 Check back in a week.

He'll have it down by then.