Gift Baskets: Your Ticket Out of Guilt
Sometimes, I suck.
I mean, big time. Several of you are reading those lines and thinking, “Oh, yes, I know. I was just about to leave a comment on your blog expressing that EXACT same sentiment.”
Others of you are thinking, “Well, sure, you suck, but who among us does not?” And for your gracious understanding, I thank you.
But believe me when I say, I suck slightly more than most people (I do recycle though. So I have that going for me.)
How do I maintain my title as Asshole of the Week for 755 weeks running? Because I prioritize things terribly. I am always on the road, and I am constantly missing important events in the lives of those closest to me. Weddings. Birthdays. Baby showers. 7,000 mile oil changes.
You name it, I’ve missed it.
And thus far, I’ve missed the first four months of my nephew’s life. I wanted to be there when he was born, but that coincided rather nicely with my brain surgery, so that didn’t quite happen. I was supposed to visit last month, before Halloween, but a miserable cold knocked me on my ass.
I made a few haphazard attempts to reschedule my flight, but they didn’t pan out. One week I was in Milwaukee. Another week I was in Boston. Then New Hampshire. I figured I’d just see my nephew on Thanksgiving Day.
But as the weeks passed, my brother’s missives have changed in tone from begrudgingly acknowledging my visit (“I guess you can come stay with us.”) to bemoaning my absence. (“Come soon. We are drowning. Also, bring food.”)
And I realized that I had literally gone to Europe and back, and then across the country TWICE, before even visiting my little nephew.
Like any good Catholic, I have been overcome with guilt over this. And like any good Catholic, I am going to use food to get myself out of trouble. I will be meeting my nephew this Wednesday. But last week, I sent my brother a box of goodies.
I filled it with stuff I figured he and my sister-in-law would like. Fancy little flavored nuts (heh). Expensive salami. A pack of Minstrels which I had to gently coax away from my husband.
For the uninitiated, Minstrels are the British equivalent of M&Ms, but worlds better than their U.S. counterparts. I am not saying that to be pedantic or urbane (I’ve given up on that YEARS ago). They are just BETTER. I would cut someone for a Minstrel. I have never cut anyone for an M&M.
Unless we’re talking mint M&Ms, which are an entirely different matter. They are awesome. I also included a bag of those.
And I grabbed some chocolate sprinkles that literally had our last name printed on the box. Plus a couple of extra “j”s. But hjey – there’s nothjing wrong with superfljuous ljetters, rjight?
And then I found these, which are hilarious for obvious reasons.
I also included a note. Here is the post-script:
And then I texted my brother, to see if my gift basket got me out of trouble. To see if things were back to normal.
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