Can I tell you something? If one more person asks me what I want for Christmas I may say a grenade launcher. So I can- wait, I’m not going to finish that sentence. It would be crossing a line. I’m not sure if it’s PMS or the fact that I’m just tired, but pondering the destruction I would like to create if one more person asks what they can get me to celebrate the birth of baby J, seems a bit over the top. Even for me.
Here’s the thing. For me, being asked what I want for Christmas is about as enjoyable as getting a pap smear. Because I’m not one of those people who formulates lists of what I want (and yes the fact that I can easily whip up a list of why I should be First Lady, but struggle to come up with a list of what I want PEOPLE TO BUY FOR ME has not been lost).
Besides the fact that I don’t have a zillion random ideas off the top of my head, I dislike the part where people judge what you say you DO want. For example:
Well-meaning gift buyer: Maya, have you given any thought as to what you want for Christmas?
Me: Um no. I guess maybe.. some shoes? Or some books? I could use a new desk lamp…
Well-meaning gift buyer: What’s wrong with the lamp you have now?
Me: Well nothing really. I just think, I could move the one I have to my beside table and then-
Well-meaning gift buyer: What?! That is ridiculous! You are a fool and a scally-wag for even suggesting such a thing! A pox on your house young lady! A POX ON YOUR HOUSE!
Okay, so I exaggerate.
Seriously though, I’m not sure when I stopped really having a list of things I want. It wasn’t as though one snowy Christmas I decided to swallow a boring pill and stop imagining, stop wishing. It just feels like, with each Christmas my list of things that I want that can be bought and wrapped with a pretty ribbon- decreases. Sure, I could say I want anything from my Christmas list last year , but I suspect if I didn’t get a diamond encrusted toothbrush for my birthday I might not be getting it now.
What I want nobody can give me, but this isn’t to say I don’t want. Oh goodness, I want. I want another hour in everyday so I can sleep-in without guilt. I want to know what to say to those people I don’t know what to say to anymore. I want my cashier at Safeway to look like she’s not going to kill herself if I say I don’t need my milk in a bag. I want to teach a grade 3 class where everyone can tie their own shoes. I want to do nothing without feeling like I should be doing something. I want someone to uncover a lost season of The West Wing. I want rainbows scheduled every Sunday, world peace and ovens to smell less like DEATH and more like gingerbread when they are self-cleaning.
And if you can figure out how to wrap up any of that in a bow, I will stop talking about the grenade launcher. Actually, if you get me the diamond encrusted toothbrush, ( or anything from La Perla, I will stop talking about the grenade launcher.
I promise.
