[I weep] at mine unworthiness, that dare not offer What I desire to give, and much less take What I shall die to want.

Oh God—time to start the whole Christmas shopping thing….. All I can say is OY!

Now don’t go getting all pissy with me—I do like the holiday season. Really, I do. I love the light displays and the houses look so festive [but, seriously, some people go way overboard. If you have a small yard, for heaven's sake don't fill every square inch with crap you got on sale at Walmart] It’s great to have people being nice to each other and giving.

[ Oh—by the way: if you live in the Philly area PLEASE give non-perishable food items to Preston & Steve’s Campout For Hunger this week!!!!!]

When you have fibromyalgia, you're tired enough to begin with without adding the stress of dealing with the mall--and the people who go there. And all that schlepping only adds to the pain. Not fun folks, not fun.

Then there's the pressure of finding gifts for my family that they’ll like.

(I do have the whole wrapping thing down though. My gifts are works of art when I'm done. I am a demon with the curling ribbon. I out "Martha" Martha Stewart!! )

And it’s the pressure of not having enough money to buy the things I’d just LOVE to present them with on Christmas morning. Like paid off student loans or new cars or a house. You know little things like that.

I have scored some major points in the past though:

The first year I was married, I was shopping with my mother-in-law and this high-end store was displaying the latest men’s fashion: bikini undies. She was appalled by this, so of course I bought a pair for my husband—as a joke. Well he LOVED them—thought they were really comfortable. [and annoying my mother-in-law was an added bonus] So every year he got new ones as a special gift from me. Until……. Flash forward about 20 years to our grandson being about 2 and a half and we’re all trying to potty train him. He walked into our room one morning as my husband was getting dressed.….

"Pop, what you doing?”
“Putting on my big boy pants bud. You want to wear big boy pants too don’t you?”
“Them’s not big boy pants, them’s girl pants.”

Me running out of the room with my hand over my mouth.

# # #

A couple of years back I bought ( among other things) my kids Starbucks gift cards—a HUGE hit. HUGE!!! I was so pleased with myself I nearly broke my arm patting myself on the back. Well one particularly cold somewhat snowy Sunday, my daughter and son decide to walk to the nearby book store that happens to have a Starbucks in it. They manage to trudge over there and go up to the counter to order their steamy hot confections. And the embryo behind the counter makes a huge mess fumbling to fill their order but finally does. They hand him their gift cards….

“ Oh, we’re not Starbucks.” My 6’2’’ son calmly leans over the counter…
“Dude, have you read your hat today?”
“Yeah… but, um…. Like, we’re not Starbucks.”

Apparently, even though the Starbucks logo was emblazoned EVERY-freaking-WHERE, the counters in the bookstores are not part of the regular franchise and do not honor the gift cards. Who knew?

# # #

Last year I bought webcams so we could all keep intouch when the grandson went away to college. He hasn't hooked he's up yet--guess he doesn't want mom to see what's REALLY going on in his dorm.....

Hey—wait. Maybe I didn’t do as well as I thought. AH, SCREW IT, THEY'RE GETTING CASH. Happy shopping all......