My sisters are notoriously wonderful gift-wrappers. At Christmas, their presents are adorned with real ribbons and bows of every colour, all glossy or sparkly or elaborately tied. The wrapped edges of their gifts are perfect. The paper looks classy. If they use a gift bag, it is appropriate to the theme of the occasion, and comes with matching tissue paper and beautiful home-made cards that are created special for the recipient.
In my house, the glorious gift-wrap goes about as far as finding a gift bag -- any gift bag -- and something to cover up the object inside (preferably tissue paper, but I have gone so far as to use construction paper or Safeway bags in the past). On the table right now, all ready for Sherry to open are two gift bags. The one from me has horses all over it; someone once gave it to me because of my obvious love for the animals (regardless of the fact that I think a bag with them all over it is a wee tacky). The one from my mother is a ridiculously over-sized wedding gift bag. It has wedding bells and white roses all over it, and it is roughly four times larger than necessary for her gift. There the two bags sit, a little dysfunctional family of tacky wrapping.
And we both know that Sherry and Melanie will come over tonight for the birthday celebration with delightfully wrapped treasures. They will have taken the time to tie bows just right, pick out wrapping paper, fluff up tissue paper, and special-make the birthday cards. In contrast, my mom and I hastily tossed our gifts into inappropriate gift bags this morning, before sloshing coffee into our travel mugs and rushing out the door to get to our workplaces on time. I at least purchased a card; my mom didn't even go that far.
But we shine in other ways, I suppose.
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