Lilac Colored Glasses

I blame my mother for this.

No, really, I do.

Cause my mother is one of those uber-giftwrapper extraordinaires. Every edge of the paper is neatly, evenly cut with the keenest of scissors. Every ribbon is color coordinated and curled to poofy perfection (with aforementioned scissors). Occasionally she’s super inspired and tosses some glitter or confetti in to make things extra festive. And we won’t even get into her calligraphy pens, but I will say that it’s been almost 16 years since my bat-mitzvah and people are still talking about the invitations and decorations.

So, growing up with the Martha Stewart Grace Jones of gift wrapping, it’s simply unacceptable to buy a gift bag, jam some tissue paper in it and present gifts to family and friends in the same manner in which a college freshman throws herself together for the walk of shame from frat row to her dormitory.
I take the time to pick nice paper and matching bows (my ribbon curling instincts have not fully matured) and I wrap gifts properly (insert nervous tic here). Which has led to the inevitable.

Not only am I now the resident fruit salad specialist, but I am also CB’s gift wrap bitch. A few days before Christmas I spread all of the gifts we’d bought out in front of me, got my roll of paper, scissors and tape and meticulously began wrapping each item. CB walked in and said something like, “Oh, you like wrapping gifts?”

To which I shrugged noncommittally and answered that I didn’t mind doing it for holidays and birthdays.

So when he bought gifts for his godparents today (I’ll try to remember to explain the Belgian godparent thing soon) he looked at me and said, “You’ll wrap them?”

Because of course now I’m the gift wrapping bitch. And yes, I could’ve refused, I know, but I kept getting mental images of what happens when a heterosexual man plays with wrapping papers and tape.

I let CB choose the paper. I did the rest.

I just hope no one asks me to make fruit salad.