WHAT COMES AROUND, GOES AROUND

I worried what people would think of me when they read “The Widow’s Poet,” and whether anyone would publish it. Eventually, I was able to face down my fears, and tell myself that I can write anything I want if I’m willing to take responsibility for it.
—Melissa Pritchard

I’ll admit it, I’m one of those people you see on the news frantically shopping for presents on Christmas Eve. I’d like to tell you otherwise, that I put a lot of thought and planning into finding just the right gifts, but then I’d be telling you a bold face lie.

When I was a high school senior and working at a small town grocery store, the manager sold me a case of toilet paper on Christmas Eve right before closing time. While the cashiers counted their tills and the stockboys shagged carts and mopped floors, I haphazardly wrapped my gift in glossy advertisements. I didn’t think of the message I might be sending to my parents. You bought this, my dad’s expression seemed to indicate, because you think we’re full of what?

When I was dating my future-wife, about eight years after the TP episode, she confessed that her family had a unique gift exchange tradition. “You don’t have to go shopping,” I heard her say, “just pick out something from your home, something you no longer need that might give my family some insight as to who you are. And don’t worry about fancy paper, ribbons, or bows, wrap it in the comics instead.” I thought, Wow, here’s a girl near and dear to my heart!

Although I can’t remember exactly what I had given on our first Christmas Eve together (I think it was a variety of magnetic locker mirrors), I do remember drawing a low card and having to wait my turn to select a gift. I also remember the gift I brought going early in the first round. My feelings of joy and anticipation turned to anxiety when someone groaned at having opened a hideous looking candle that had been passed around year after year. As for me, when it was my turn, I received a box of laxatives.