Story 638: What Can I Give for Father’s Day?

 WEDNESDAY 

“Hi kiddo, what’s up?”

“Hey Dad, just calling to ask what can I give for Father’s Day this Sunday?”

“Oh, gee, thanks, but Father’s Day’s actually the following Sunday.”

“…Dangit!” <CLICK>

“Hello?... This kid, I’m telling you….” 

THE FOLLOWING WEDNESDAY 

“Hi kiddo, what’s up?”

“OK, for real this time: what can I give you for Father’s Day this Sunday?”

“Heh-heh, right, yeah – you don’t have to give me anything: your existence alone is present enough for me.”

“Oh come on!”

“You know, your mother and I try to give you an easier life than we had, and yet you insist on undermining that at every opportunity.”

“I can’t just not give you something on Father’s Day!  It’s up there with birthdays – gifts are obligatory, or else you might as well quit the entire family!”

“What?”

“Please, just tell me you want something that you’d never get for yourself: concert tickets – a motorcycle – a football team?!”

“<Sigh> Fine, you can get me… socks.”

“….”

“….”

“Socks.”

“Yeah, the ones I have are getting worn out and I need new ones for pickleball.  The white athletic kind, you know, that I can wear with my sneakers and pull up over my calves.”

“….”

“….”

“You’re making fun of me, aren’t you.”

“You can be a bit dramatic, but new socks really are what I would like.”

“Very well, Father: if socks are what you want, then socks are what you shall get.”

“Why does that sound like a threat?” 

SUNDAY 

“Happy Father’s Day!”

“Hiiii… What’s… all… this?”

“Socks!  Just like you wanted!”

“But you’re trucking in so many bags here – how many pairs did you get?!”

“A year’s supply, so now none of them will have a chance to wear out!”

“Oh my… thank you?”

“Certainly!  Nothing’s too good for MY FATHER ON FATHER’S DAY!”

“Just one more thing.”

“Anything!”

“Put all of them away somewhere before your mother sees them.”

Story 633: What Can I Give for Mother’s Day?

            “Oh hi honey, what’s up?”

“Well, I’m calling in a panic right now, an absolute panic!”

“Dear me, why’s that?”

“Because Mother’s Day is this Sunday, and I have absolutely no idea what to give you this year!”

“Aw honey, you know you don’t have to give me anything – ”

“Don’t tell me that Mother’s Lie!”

“ – And it really doesn’t matter anyway since Mother’s Day was last Sunday.”

“…What?”

“Mother’s Day already passed, so save this for my birthday instead.”

“No, no, Mother’s Day is this Sunday, it’s the third Sunday of the month!”

“That’s Father’s Day, dear.”

“Since when?!”

“Since whenever both holidays were established here, I think.”

“OK, well, why didn’t you say anything when I didn’t come over on Sunday and didn’t even call you!  All day!”

“Well, one doesn’t like to mention such things; I figured you’d just forgot, and in a way, you did.  But it was an honest mistake – nothing to fret about.”

“This is an even bigger disaster than I thought!  You spent all day at home, alone, staring out the window and thinking I’m the worst child a mother ever had, I could just burst from the shame!”

“Actually, your father and I had a wonderful time whitewater rafting that day, and I’m sorry to say I didn’t even think about you until the following morning.”

“See!  I’m such an awful child that you didn’t even remember you had one on that day of all days!”

“Honey, it’s really not that big a deal; I understand you got a little mixed up on the dates and we’ll just celebrate on another day.  Not this Sunday, though – I’ll be doing one of those cure walks with my book club and it’ll be extremely early in the morning, so that’ll wipe me out for the rest of the day.”

“Fine-fine, but back to the original subject: what do you want?!”

“<Sigh> Brunch would be lovely.”

“No cooperation at all!”  <CLICK>

“Certainly doesn’t get all that drama from my side of the family, I’ll tell you.” 

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          * 

“Happy Mother’s Day!  Two weeks later!”

“Hi, honey!  What’s all this out on the front lawn?”

“Well, since you refused to tell me what to get you, I had to make an executive decision and order a traveling circus.”

“You did what?”

“Oh yeah, this company does stuff like this all the time – you don’t still have the sprinkler system installed in the lawn, do you?”

“What?  No, that’s all gone, but – ”

“Great – OK FELLAS, NO SPRINKLER HEADS TO WORRY ABOUT SO JUST AVOID THE WATER AND GAS LINES, ALL RIGHT?”

“Honey, what is going on?!”

“Don’t worry, they just need to know where to set up the big top.”

“On the front lawn?!”

“You know, you’re right – backyard has so much more space.  OK FELLAS, MOVE IT ALL TO THE BACK INSTEAD!”

“Wait-wait-wait – this is all too much; I didn’t want you spending what is clearly a fortune on a performance troupe!”

“Oh, that’s not an issue: the ringmaster owes me a favor.  YOU CAN USE THE HOSE ATTACHED TO THE HOUSE TO FILL UP THE DIVING POOL, AND TELL THE TRAPEZE ARTISTS TO GO AS HIGH UP AS THEY WANT!  Just send me your next month’s water bill – they shouldn’t need your electricity, but let me know if they wind up tapping into it later.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about – oh, all these people, all over the place – wait, no, don’t tell me there’re going to be lions or elephants or horses coming through here too, are there?!”

“Hm?  Oh, no, this is a humans-only circus; don’t need that extra headache.”

“OK.  Do they need me to feed them, then?”

“On your special day?!  No-no-no – the catering trailer should be around any minute now.  You don’t mind if they park and set up on the grass, do you?  I don’t think there’s enough room on the street.”

“You really went through too much trouble, you know.”

“On the contrary: not nearly enough to make up for my horrific oversight and failure as an offspring!”

“Yes, well, I’d actually forgotten all about that until just now.  Let me go get your father and let him know the circus is in our backyard.”

“No need: I see he’s out there now, telling them where to set up the big top.”

“Of course he is.  Well, thank you for the entertaining show – and I’m sure the circus performances will be fun, too.”

“Certainly!  Nothing is too good for MY MOTHER on MOTHER’S DAY!”

“I do have one request.”

“Anything!”

“Next year, stick to brunch.”

Story 391: I Only Want to Buy Some Flowers

 “Happy Mother’s Day!” Friend 1 beamed, handing over a flat of 18 multi-color pansies.

“Oh hon, they’re lovely!” Mom also beamed, admiring the pretty flowers.  “I’ll plant them today!  Thank you so much – I know it’s starting to get past their season, did you have a hard time finding these?”

“Oh, they were no trouble….”

 THE PREVIOUS DAY

 “HELP!”  Friend 1 screeched into the phone.

Friend 2 winced, momentarily holding the phone away: “You sound extremely agitated, so I’m assuming this isn’t too serious.  Help with what?”

“Mother’s Day is tomorrow, and I’m at the store with all the plants and stuff – ”

“A nursery?”

“I guess; that always sounds like a place to shop for babies, though.”

“That’s `cause you’re a weirdo.”

“Anyway, I’m at the transplanted-plant-place and I looked all over the joint five times with a huge cart hitting everything and everyone every time I turn a corner and I can’t find them anywhere!”

“Can’t find what?”

“Oh sorry, thought I said – pansies!”

“Did you ask anyone there for help?”

“They look busy!”

“They want to make money through actual sales, though.”

“It’s too embarrassing to ask now, they’ve seen me pass by 15 times!”

“All right, do you know what pansies look like?”

“Of course I do!”

“….”

“I looked up pictures online before I came here, OK!”

“Another reason to give thanks for technology.”

“Yes-yes, for the clueless people like me!  And I’ve gone around this whole indoor-outdoor set-up 30 times, and I thought I saw them a bunch of times but no, those were petunias, and everywhere I look there’re petunias, and I’m surrounded by petunias, and I don’t need petunias, I need pansies!”

Friend 2 heard a voice in the distance on the other end of the call: “We have some pansies right here, actually.”

“That is one dinky pot that looks like it’s going to fall over and be reabsorbed into the ground at any moment!  I need a flat!  Which I assume means more than one plant!”

“Oh yeah, we usually carry them in sets of 18, but we’re sold out of ones with pansies right now.”

Friend 2 heard a roar begin to grow and interjected: “Listen, if you want to come by I’ll take you to the nursery where I usually get plants, all right?”

“That – !  Sounds wonderful, thank you, bye.”

An hour later, Friend 1’s car arrived at Friend 2’s house; Friend 2 entered the passenger side and saw Friend 1 was covered in dirt and leaves.

“Did you get in a fight there or something?” Friend 2 asked as they drove away.

“I may have gotten a bit turned around in Shrubs and Baby Trees.”

They arrived at another local nursery and parked at the very back of the lot.

“Good, it’s not too crowded right now,” Friend 2 said as they both exited the car.  “And if you just need the one flat then don’t bother with a cart; I’ll carry it while you pay.”

“You don’t know how happy you’ve made me right now.”

As they entered the fringes of the nursery, a busload of horticultural enthusiasts and 40 more cars of panicky last-minute Mother’s Day shoppers arrived and dispersed their contents throughout the property.

Friend 1 tugged on Friend 2’s sleeve: “People!  People!  I’m gettin’ antsy!”

Friend 2 continued scanning the displays: “Calm down, we won’t be here for that long – excuse me?”  An employee with an armful of potting soil bags was stopped.  “Do you have flats of pansies here?”

“Oh yeah, they’re down that way,” the employee head-tilted toward the far end of the outside portion of the nursery as a walkie-talkie burst with static: “Are you coming here with that soil or what?!  I’ve got 500 customers on a line that’s stretched out to the highway, and I’m never gonna get to go on break today, never!”  The employee stress-grinned at Friend 2: “Sorry, I’ve gotta go – ” head-tilted toward the cash register section.

“Understood.”

Friend 1 glared at Friend 2: “While I admire your initiative, a vague direction in a sea of leaves and petals is hardly helpful.”

“It’s better than wandering around out here for the next half-hour with nothing to show for it – come on.”

They followed the winding paths through roses, hydrangeas, and willows, searching for the tell-tale bright colors with faces peeking through the petals.

Spinning around in a circle, Friend 1 wailed “I don’t see them!” before suddenly sitting down on a brick pathway in the middle of the tomato plants.

Friend 2 surveyed the area with narrowed eyes: “Yes, this appears not to be the category of flora we’re looking for.”

“I told you they’re too busy to ask – we got sent the wrong way in a panic!”

Friend 2 grabbed Friend 1’s arm and lifted, walking them back to the main entrance: “So, we’ll just ask someone else for help.”

“NO!” Friend 1 began to run through thorny bushes toward the parking lot.  “I won’t be sucked into this horrible snare of displaced Nature any farther!  I’m going to buy a cake or a bag of coffee or a spatula instead, anything to get me out of this fake forest biome, Mom’ll understand!”

Friend 2 grabbed the back of Friend 1’s shirt and pointed to a display next to the greenhouse they were passing: “The pansy flats are right there.”

Friend 1 blinked down at the flowers: “Well, whaddya know.”

They scooped up the booty and stood on line for 45 minutes.

“You know,” Friend 2 said while shifting the flat again to a more comfortable position, “this experience wouldn’t have been so bad if you hadn’t waited until the day before Mother’s Day to buy the #1 gift for mothers.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Friend 1 said, staring at the register in the far distance.

“How so?”

“Could’ve been day of.”

Eventually, they reached the counter and the cashier rang them up: “That’ll be $89.03, please.”

“For a flat of $1 flowers?!”  Friend 2 nearly dropped said flat.

“No,” the cashier said as Friend 1 shifted to the side, “there’re also all these.”  The cashier gestured to the lawn gnomes, bird houses, and garden spinners piled onto the counter.

It was Friend 2’s turn to glare as Friend 1 said, “Hey, they don’t call them impulse buys for nothing.”

“Then you can certainly impulse buy and impulse carry them to the car!”

They dumped everything into Friend 1’s car and slowly entered the stream of traffic exiting the parking lot.

“This is why I never do errands on weekends!” Friend 1 shouted out the window while leaning on the horn.  “Mom’d better appreciate the sacrifices I make for her!  The ordeals I go through for one lousy plant – !”  Friend 2 took Friend 1’s hand off the horn.

“Remind me to not join you next time you need to buy a plant present.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it all figured out now,” Friend 1 said through gritted teeth while nearly hitting a cherub statue and several trellises: “EVERYTHING IS UNDER CONTROL!!!”

 THE FOLLOWING DAY

Friend 1’s smile at Mom widened.

“No trouble at all.”

Story 318: All I Want for Christmas Is Nothing to Give and Nothing to Get

Dear Santa,

            I am a reasonable human being.  I like to think I have a firm grasp on reality.  So I am not going to mince words with you: this Christmas, I will not ask for one single present, from you or from anyone else, at all, not one.  In return, I only ask that I not be required, requested, and/or obligated to give one single present, to you or to anyone else, at all, not one.

            To put it bluntly, Mr. Claus, I simply cannot take it any longer.  Everyone complains, yet they compulsively do it anyway: you know what I mean, the massive, overwhelming, soul-destroying marathon that is holiday shopping.  Many of us have too much stuff as it is, but there we all go, off to the sales races again.  And so we go through the motions, year after dreaded year, piling into horrendous traffic, piling into overcrowded stores, piling into the worst zeniths of consumerism, stuff, stuff, stuff.  Will all that stuff fill the empty void currently taking up residence in our hearts?   The answer of course is “No,” but most act as if it is “Yes.”

            And as the coins in my piggy bank dwindle, I question the point of the whole thing.  Why do we continue to give gifts if the process of getting them has made the giver so utterly unhappy?  Does the recipient’s brief, passing joy make all that suffering worth it?  I guess.  Still does not make up for the four hours I will never get back from the mass chaos that is the mall.  How is that all of us always decide to go there at the same time, anyway?

            I would also like to discuss the futility of sending holiday cards, but that is too off-topic and would require a ream of paper to address adequately.

           Returning to the issue at hand, I would like to speak to the conundrum of online shopping: convenient for the consumer, perhaps, but inconvenient for the delivery person who now is in the previously mentioned traffic and also for the warehouse employee who has added your order to the 7,322 others waiting to be filled that day.  But it is guaranteed next-day delivery, since unnamed shopper forgot to order it until two days before the main event of Christmas or Hanukkah.

           Not to mention (but I will anyway), I have no idea what to get people, including members of my own family, unless they specifically tell me what they want.  Opera tickets?  A wooden sleigh?  Gift cards for soon-to-be-out-of-business restaurants?  It is exhausting trying to figure out a gift that will not be returned.

            I just cannot bear the stress of it all anymore, so I beg of you: please do not give me anything this year, and let me be relieved of the burden of having to give presents to anyone.  If you are so gracious as to grant this request, I warn you now I may ask for it again next year.

           I write to you every December, and in all my 42 years on this planet I have yet to receive a bona fide response from you or your staff.  I would greatly appreciate it if this year's anti-consumerism theme ended that streak.

                                                                        Always Affectionately Yours,

                                                                        Little Johnny