Gifts and Horses
So when I was a kid, my aunties would get me wildly inappropriate things for holiday gifts. Sometimes these were purchased at a fair amount of expense. Invariably, they were unwearable. Scarf and hat sets in vivid polyester or outfits which had never been fashionable in America, well, ever. Even though I felt let down, I still recognized the thought. I mean, they had gone out and chosen something for me. For me! They'd wrapped it and hoped that it was something I would like. That was the bit that I relished. It was done for me. With me in mind. My Aunt Rita was a classic. She would shop at the rather nice department store and pick out these bizarre ensembles (no doubt helped by a savvy sales person who spotted her coming a mile away) and have them professionally wrapped for us. For me! It was like getting a gumball in a Tiffany's package from someone who was convinced that you LOVE gumballs. Which you do not, but still. But, youknow, still.
(Anonymous)
and then, the "thank you" letter
Re: and then, the "thank you" letter
Um. Raised by wolves, me. We were never made to write thank-yous! I think I heard talk of the notion . . . Seriously. Kids don't think that way. Adults have to make them do it or it doesn't get done. Even a phone call or an email is better than nothing. But, as I said, I was raised by wolves so the habit was never ingrained. I do think about it, but rarely follow through. It's probably my single worst bad habit.