I Hate Christmas Shopping

image source: dftours.com.au

I hate Christmas shopping. There I’ve said it. I usually like a bit of retail therapy but Christmas shopping just breaks my spirit.

Its not the overly happy carols blaring in every retail outlet and mall – though the repetitiveness is annoying. It’s not the in-your-face and oh-so-tacky decorations. What the hell is tinsel? And, surprisingly, it is neither the crowds swarming to the exact same bargain bins you are, nor the size of the prams that, when unfolded’ are bigger than the car, they arrived in.

It is the selections of the gifts themselves. The higher the obligation – read extended family -  or the more you care and respect for the person – read partner closest friends – the harder it is to buy chose the right gift.

Colleagues, general friends and acquaintances are easy as the gifts can be pretty generic, something found at a local Christmas market. Thats what soaps, bath gels and candles are for.

Starting with the gifts you want to buy, those for the people you care for and respect the most.

Wandering through store waiting for the gift to “jump off the shelf” at you never works. The music, tinsel and flashing lights will dull your senses, so even if the perfect gift was right there on the shelf in front of you would be oblivious to their presence.

You have an idea for a gift, in fact you think it is a great idea. You go to the shops, lots of them, only to discover that the gift you thought was perfect either does not actually exist or it costs double the limit you set yourself.

Then there are the obligatory gifts, those that come with the highest of expectations and the most damning of judgements. It is expected that the gifts are obviously of a certain monetary value quality. The gift is also expected to be quite personalised for the receiver – monogrammed handkerchiefs don’t count. Ideally they also reflect the relationship between the giver and receiver. Ironically the higher the obligation, the lower the actual relationship.

People with a much known passion appear, on the surface at least, to be easier to buy for. In reality you become paralysed by the fear that you bought the cat lover them the same porcelain figurine of a mother cat cleaning its kitten’s anus for a birthday 2 years ago.

Oh to be a child again where gift giving was a simple as wrapping up loose change or decorating a pinecone with glitter a giving them to siblings.

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