Journal: Wrapping Paper

*) Important safety tip. I journal everyday in a standard, spiral bound notebook. I've been doing it for years, even when I travel. But I think this summer, I'll try something different. I think I'm going to keep a majority of it here, online. I have a little book of ideas to journal about. I'm going to use it as a warmup to writing other items, some I'll publish here (like critiques) and some I'll keep to myself. You've been warned.

I have to admit, I can't wrap gifts. I can't. I've got two degrees, enough credits for a probable third and yet...I can't wrap gifts. And it's not for lack of trying. I've been taught by the best of them. Mrs. Material, aka MotherUnitPrime, buys gifts beyond the need to. She'll give gifts to people I didn't even know I was related too. Heck, I think she once boasted that she gave out 42 gifts one holiday. Of course, I only got one out of the deal--I'm only her second born. And like Prince Harry, I would have to create a ruckus if I wanted more.

But I digress.

I can't wrap gifts. You know those freegin girlie gift bags? The world felt my pain and invented those buggers for me. If I wrap it, it's duct tape city, baby. My partner? He can wrap a gift so well, you don't want to open it. YOu want to set it aside and invite people over to stare at it. YOu take photos. You call relatives and find a use for the camera on the cell phone. You forget why you were giving gifts.

In other words, the pressure is on. So I give better gifts. It lessens the pain. And I have my partner wrap the stuff.

It's not the only thing that causes undue stress in my life, but it's a quirk that I have to mention here on SquirrelVision. I also can't pack the bags at the end of the conveyer belt at the super market.

Seriously.

I would tip the kid if I got paid more, no matter how bad his acne is. But when I arrive at the lane on Thursday nights, I breathe a sigh of relief that I have my hubbie with me. He used to do it when he was younger. But in those days of singledom? I either had to walk through the mall to have the cheerleaders at their little booth wrap, like 20 items for Christmas; and if I shopped at Cub Foods, I would invent diseases of the fingers and palms (I got it caught in the car door) to have them bag for me.

Only once did I bag with aplomb. When "Ace" the star basketball player from high school was my cashier at a Cub Foods in Denver. I had such a crush on him. He had a free ride to any college of his choice and if he took off his shirt, any guy or girl. But seeing him as a cashier helped my bruised ego. I smirked, and watched him turn back to the next schmo in line. And I started packing my paper bag, letting my mind wander that I might have risen above my torrid high school years.

So there you have it folks. My torture, my pain, right out there where all can see.

I can't wrap or pack. Go figure.