Or anyone else, for that matter…
I write a lot about THINGS.
Things I collect.
Things I like to acquire.
Seashells. Rocks. Driftwood. Sand.
Treasures discovered in little out-of-the-way shops.
Other things…gifts, presents, prizes, surprises…rings and necklaces and bracelets and trinkets from my tugboat man’s travels around the universe.
My first Chanel handbag and wallet — ad nauseum.
Why does Princess Rosebud’s tugboat man give her so many THINGS?
Have you asked yourself that question?
Why does SHE rate all that loot?
Really, why DO I?
One of the reasons, I mean, besides my specialness, of course –hold on — I’m taking a breath here.
I’m gonna reveal something personal.
Hubs feels that he needs to make amends for the way his parents treated me –uh, er, I mean Princess Rosebud.
THE FOLLOWING IS A CAUTIONARY TALE.
Never do this to anyone, especially your DIL. It’s the meanest thing EVER. EVER. I mean, like EVER.
My wonderfully sweet tugboat man EXORCISED the demons.
In a big way. Again and again.
Here’s the story: We had been married for only a year, perhaps two. I’m not sure exactly because I’ve tried to block the pain of that Christmas. And yes, I’m Jewish, and yes, I have a Christmas tree and a menorah, and yes, I say “Merry Christmas”. What. Ever. Haters gonna hate.
If you’ve been reading my confessions for a while, you prolly have gathered by now that I loves me some designer labels. Whether it’s a new ChaCha or treasures from that secret consignment shop, I have a deep and abiding love for all that is beautiful. And Valentino, too. (Click on the link to read about my vintage find of all finds.)
Take a look at these Lanvin and Jimmy Choo shoes. Aren’t they TDF fur realz? Yup, that consignment shop again.
During that particular holiday season we were still seeing hubs family which means it was pre-2001, ‘cos we haven’t seen them since. (That’s a whole other chapter, and not the subject of the MEANEST GIFT EVER, but a story about the worst family ever.)
We received a package of gifts from the captain’s family and arranged them under the tree for Christmas morning. I was sooo excited because the one that had my name on it (misspelled again, dammit) was a huge bag from Versace.
In fact, here’s the bag.
I’ve kept it as a reminder of something to NEVER EVER do to my DIL–or anyone else. Look at it! It’s Versace! All glossy white with the iconic golden lion head.
OMG, I thought it was prolly a scarf–I love scarves–and I was having a hard time not sneaking a peek.
Christmas morning…in front of the fire with a fresh cup of coffee–one present for the captain, one for my son, and then it was my turn… I plunged my hand into the bag and pulled out something encased in white tissue paper.
What could it be??? A scarf? Jewelry?
Alas, NO to all that wishful thinking.
It was a muvvverfluffing pencil and pad of paper from a muvvvvverfluffffing dollar store.
This is MAJOR. Let me repeat that.
IT WAS A MUVVVERFLUFFING PENCIL AND PAD OF PAPER FROM A MUVVERFLUFFING DOLLAR STORE.
I turned the bag over, shook it, peered inside, felt all around the four corners and even under the little flap on the bottom, and then — nothing, nada, zip, birds could fly in and out. Empty.
No Versace ANYTHING.
Which means my darling hub’s evil bitch of a stepmom must have gotten something for herself from Versace and used that bag to toss in that cheapass idontgiveashitaboutyou pencil crapass crap in the bag. BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH BITCH. Yeah, I’m talking to you, MOTHER-IN-LAW.
A vicious calculating diabolical mean-spirited deliberate intentional act. There is no excuse for that behavior. None at all.
I “get” the whole subtext of that little THING.
Not that I wouldn’t normally like a little gifty like that as a stocking stuffer because I’m a very apprciative recipient, but for all that is holy, don’t set me up to expect something from Versace only to be brought to tears by your passive aggressive ultimate unkindness.
The message was crystal clear; this was no accident. I’m not being overly sensitive but I always had the feeling that she didn’t like me; before this occurred, I never had an overt sign.
How do I know that there was no other reason for this cruelty?
She’s a muvvverfluffing PSYCHOLOGIST.
She knew full well what she was doing. She has all the mind screwing tools at her disposal. Way to go, hateful bitch!
I was gonna take that pad of paper with the cheapass pencil and fill every page with a long list of all the ways she was a total bitch and how it hurt my feelings, and how it wasn’t a very nice way to treat the woman her husband’s son loved, but then I decided not to (which isn’t like me cos I don’t have much impulse control); instead, hubs and I ceremoniously burned it in the fireplace.
My amazing hubs could see how distraught I was, not because I didn’t get an expensive gift, but because she set me up, and because it was proof positive that she didn’t like me, because everyone else received nice and thoughtful gifts. (Like I said, there’s much more to this story.)
And for all these many years later, he’s still feeling guilty and ashamed of the way his family [still] treats me, and that’s why I get a lot of prezzies. Well, one reason, anyway! Wink, wink.
But I kept the Versace bag so I’d never forget. Lesson #1 about how to NEVER treat my own Angel Boy’s DIL.
Don’t you just love your Marc Jacobs handbag “reward” for achieving that extraordinary work-related goal? My pleasure.:)