Knowing that I am not the only person ever to feel slighted by an unwanted gift does not alleviate any of the guilt that I feel. I remind myself that it is the thought that counts, but in the same mental breath I am thinking that thoughtlessness requires very little effort. I chide myself, too, for pride in the handcrafted gifts I have given, for I take as much pleasure in their creation as I do in the gifting, and it isn't like I wouldn't be doing something while watching episode after episode of The Office anyway. It's just an excuse.
"I'm working, really. JAM is just a happy coincidence."
Perhaps like all tactless young married folk, M and I have begun our collection of white elephants and re-gifts, shoved into a cardboard box in the basement like things we never cared enough to unpack. Worse still, something a loathsome roommate left behind, requiring a hit-and-run of the Goodwill lest better Samaritans of the world realize just what you're trying to pawn off on the unfortunate.
Besides, I shop there, too. One woman's trash is another's hand-painted resin seasonal showpiece, yes?
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