The box looked innocent enough as my nephew handed me the Christmas present he had so lovingly selected and wrapped. But as the package left his hands and sank into mine, my arms extended like rubber bands to keep from dropping a box the weight of an anvil right on the carpet. Sure, the polar bear on the front looked jolly, but he had obviously been eating an obscene amount of fruitcake given the excess holiday pounds he was packing around. If I dropped his arctic fanny on my foot, I’d be needing a toe splint for Christmas.
I took my seat on the couch, and my nephew stood before me wearing an amused smirk that told me to lift that lid with caution. My family gathered to watch me open my gifts, and I chose to open Blake’s first before the box made a permanent indentation on my thighs. I couldn’t split the tape with my nails, but in Georgia, in any group of people numbering greater than ten, you always have at least two pocketknife carriers. Appropriate slits made, I lifted the lid to reveal this:
I glanced up at Blake, who was smiling with all forty of his teeth at this point, and started to giggle. “Well, look at this!” I exclaimed. “Blake bought me a home security system. It must be the luxury model since it includes not one brick, but two, and there’s even a back up stone in the shape of a flying discus! How thoughtful.”
Everyone was laughing and as I stood to dislodge the effective, albeit cumbersome, first line in self-defense system from my lap, I gave Blake a hug and pocketed the gift card. “Just remember,” I said. “My memory is long and paybacks are unexpected. Merry Christmas!”
And given the laughter we shared over that one gift, it was indeed.
© 2014 – Traci Carver