The Christmas Cookie
December 12, 2011 § 2 Comments
Reposting a Holiday Favorite of mine as I wonder what I should get for Mister Red this year beyond a strip tease. Any suggestions?
For many, it’s “our first Christmas together,” or the equivalent to a potentially traumatizing experience much like watching E.T. as a 4 year old or the first time you saw a penis with your own eyes. It’s month of negotiations and creative problem solving. He still thinks I’m pretty and I’m trying to figure out how to successfully keep the flaws hidden during my holiday drinking binge. I’ve also got to assess the ratio of family traditions to mistletoe time, come up with a sexy way to wear horizontal red and white stripes, and the statistics of how naughty one can be while avoiding receiving coal. And there’s the most stressful one of all, the delicate equation of love plus finances divided by how-long-you’ve-been-sleeping-together equaling the appropriate gift. The most dreaded song and dance for any new couple, beyond the first time someone breaks wind.
Up front I’m saying no jewelry. For me there’s a lot of pressure when receiving jewelry only a few months into a relationship. Precious metals are symbolic of jail and a necklace reminds me of a noose. Also I’m too young to wear something called a tennis bracelet, I’m caught between sillybands and bangles. Of course when you throw this statement around carelessly without addendum it could backfire. Two or more years together and there better be some bling in a box at some point. If five years go by and you’re still getting socks, it’s your own fault. Guys will always remember what they are excused from, not what is required of them.
It’s always a sticky situation if you make an agreement to adhere to a dollar amount, especially early on. Presuming that he will simply ignore the price cap so you make out like a bandit, trading a nerf gun for diamond earrings is delusional. Men are incapable of reading between the lines when you want them to. Tears will ensue and you’ll ruin Christmas for everyone. Don’t be that chick that ruined Christmas, it doesn’t look good on the resume. You’ll go down in the Christmas history, “remember that crier Paul brought last year, she put a 20 dollar limit on her 200 dollar expectations.” And if you DO make it to the next Christmas you better be prepared for scrutiny. And if your lucky enough to advance beyond that, you’ll become the annual joke. Best to just be blunt about it. My no-jewelry rule is a price cap without the price tag. For me, I’d rather not have a hefty investment on my hands if the stocks plummet. That and I don’t like feeling like I owe someone anything just because they gave me something I didn’t ask for. Although I’m pretty sure that also says, “I’m petrified of commitment and not mature enough to have nice things.” I’m like a squirrel and jewelry is a sudden movement. You do not want to scare me off. Have you seen my tail? It’s spectacular. If you want to keep me around, you’ll have to slowly lure me in with lots of nuts.
I’m probably different than most ladies. Not just small boxes, but anything wrapped up in non-descript paper gives me anxiety. I literally have a panic attack even thinking about Christmas morning. I don’t like presents. Well, that’s not true. I do find it better to give then to receive with the exception of oral pleasure. That’s beside the point. It’s not that I’m against receiving a nice gesture from a loved one, let me clarify, I just don’t like expected surprises. If I’m aware of a surprise on the way, I know the surpriser is going to expect a reaction from me. It’s their anticipation of my reaction that sends me over the edge. The pressure cripples me, even if I love the gift I unwrap my anxiety has already scared the reaction out of me. I get so worked up because I know I cannot control my facial expressions. If I hate something, you’ll know. I’d be a terrible actress, an even worse liar, and when I’m anxious I just make the bad lunch face. When I hold a present in my lap I can’t help but taste expired leafy greens. Bless the man who gives me a gift and let him be forewarned.
In truth, the only thing that should matter is his heart and the package it comes in. I think we all want a sexy Santa to come down our chimneys and tell us that ours is the only house he’ll be visiting. The only box I want him holding is mine. And in the end, I’ll always give him the cookie.