When I was a girl, my Mama told me that I was the best Christmas-present-wrapper ever. And I believed it. I mean I really believed it. The wrapping table was my domain. Back off, boys, I’m wrapping the Christmas presents around here. Scissors, check. Scotch-tape, check. Curling ribbon, check. Paper, check. Tags, check. Re-re-re-used bows with wads of scotch-tape on that little square of paper, check. Saved shirt-boxes, check. Red and green yarn, check.
When I emerged from my den of wrappings and ribbons, mission completed, Mama would just beam at me so gratefully for being such a good present wrapper. Sigh. I felt so good!
So good, in fact, that in college, I parlayed my wrapping talents into a sweet holiday gig at Chinn’s Jewelry Store. I can just picture my mother gushing to Mr. and Mrs. Chinn that Ginny was the best Christmas present wrapper in town, and that they’d be lucky to have me help out for the season. I was so pleased to be behind the counter at Chinn’s that Christmas, that they really didn’t need to pay me. Plus they were my grandparents’ friends. But I accepted, what, $2.50 an hour? Icing on the cake, my friends. Icing.
At Chinn’s I learned the fine art of folding the edges of the wrapping paper. Measuring the paper to the quarter-inch, to avoid waste. And making bows on this crazy little bow thingy, then poofing them by twisting them with art and finesse into silver perfection. It was such a nice feeling to hand my little confections across the counter to boyfriends, husbands, and almost-fiances, who were just so excited to be giving their girls tiny little boxes for Christmas. Ya’ll have a Merry Christmas!
So what happened? When did the bubble burst?
I’ll tell you.
It burst when I tried to pass the mantle of Best Christmas Present Wrapper Ever to my own daughter. When I decided she was old enough to be trusted with the honor of wrapping presents for friends and family, I said, “And now you can be the Best Christmas Present Wrapper for me, just like I was for my mother.”
And she looked at me, like I was driving the watermelon truck. “Um, riiiiggghht, Mom.”
ginnygram 