Be (a) Present

‘Tis the season of giving – or so you’re told. It’s a time of slide rules and T-squares, where gifters relish each extra moment standing over the rusted blade of an ancient paper cutter. If there’s one thing you want to get right this time of year, it’s the angle of your wrapping paper. Flat, clean edges are a must. That’s something beaten into your head – metaphorically – as a child. Avoid air bubbles, creases, and tears. The goal is for the present to look so good, so pristine, that the recipient is torn over opening. Regret is the feeling one should have when ruining your hard work. Because before you open something, it’s perfect. Until it’s an ugly pair of vintage sunglasses, your imagination can take you places your loved ones would never go. Unwrapped, it can be birdseed, a corkscrew, flypaper – the stuff you need, the stuff you want, the stuff you love.

Those with a philosophical bent tend to harp on being present, begging you to exclusively reside in the moment. This is no easy task, especially when you’d like nothing more than to drive the conversation in two opposite directions. Whether it’s a lively discussion of 12^th century snack foods or musings on how boring teleportation will be after just a few hundred trips. I’m told these conversations are pointless since neither exist in my proper time. Why talk about the Bonapartes, Martian exploration, or the future of Tupperware when there’s something stuck to you shoe that you need to deal with right now? 

I choose to take their advice halfway. While I won’t be present, I will be a present. Does this mean that I’m going to wrap myself in the finest wrapping paper available and wear a floppy sombrero-shaped bow? I could, though it’s not likely. I would end up spending most of time sewing elaborate paper costumes, cravats and coats with images of Santa and his merry reindeer. None of which would help me when it rains or snows. Waterproof wrapping paper is a problem for the future, which as it turns out, isn’t a problem for me. 

But what I will do is upon entering any room with at least one other person, loudly and unapologetically declare, “I got your present, right here” - pointing at my chest like a crazed cave person. It's not like I could top myself. I'm fairly young, in decent condition and less offensive than licorice haphazardly shoved into a stocking that's a little too close to an open fireplace. 

That should be tolerated until about mid-January when everyone in my life cuts me off. But that’s okay. I’ll probably run out of paper by then anyway.