The Gift-Wrapping Fiasco of 2011

I firmly believe that there are few things in the world as dangerous as handing me a present and demanding it to be gift-wrapped.

In this I am the product of my parents.

My mother, while capable of all kinds of science-defying acts (like cleaning the bathroom and doing the shopping at the same time), subscribes to the theory that everything – no matter what shape it is – can be made to look like a lolly if you just put enough elbow grease into it. And my dad? Well, when I was two he dropped me and got a stick stuck in my eye, but since he was too afraid to pull it out himself he dragged me through the neighbourhood until my mother could de-branch me. What does that have to do with gift wrapping? Nothing really, but it’s my opinion that if you can’t pull a stick out from your kid’s eye, you probably can’t gift-wrap. Prove me wrong if you dare.

Despite these genes, I’ve somehow managed to make it to adulthood (and you realise this means a lot of Christmases, birthdays and a five year stint at Mather’s Shoes during which I had to wrap shoes for postage). But like every person with a severe disability, I’ve faced plenty of adversity: The Great Christmas Stereo Disaster of 1999, The Frying Pan Can’t Be Made Into A Lolly Shape Crisis of 2004 and The Accidentally Super-Glued Hand To Wrapping Paper Catastrophe (shortly followed by the Why Were You Using Superglue To Gift-Wrap ?! Inquisition).

Today I added another one to the record books when I took on the monumental task of gift-wrapping my goddaughter’s and her brother’s birthday presents (which I have to post tomorrow. Could someone please remind me?).

Luckily I was prevented from performing this task at the post office. That is, the post office staff sensed my intent to wrap five things inside their workplace and closed it before I had the chance to execute my plan.

Instead I took the pretty gift-wrap and the pretty presents home and spent the next hour and a half (HOUR AND A HALF!!!) making a complete mess of everything around me. When I was done, I had – for the first time in the history of our apartment – caused complete silence to fall over the room. Neither Simon nor Mark had ever seen a person so completely inept at performing such a basic task. I, on the other hand, beamed at having finished with five, distinguishably different and separate (because it doesn’t always work out that way) presents: two boxes, two misshaped – but nonetheless colourful – cowpats and a lolly.  If my family was by my side, they’d be applauding feverishly.

Of course tomorrow when the post office staff see what I’ve done I’ll probably be banned from buying wrapping paper in Germany, but tonight I drink to victory!