Velcrometer
Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks
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M. Giant's Velcrometer Throwing stuff at the internet to see what sticks |
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Monday, December 23, 2002 If I ever used this blog to post multimedia, I’d be doing it today. Then you’d see video clips from the pre-Christmas celebration that my mother-in-law had at her house the other night. On the other hand, it’s enough just to know that some of that footage exists. * Like my sister-in-law opening present after present, grateful and pleased at her haul but simultaneously holding out a fading hope that one of the boxes would contain a George Foreman Lean, Mean, Fat-Reducing Grilling Machine™. As the pile of gifts dwindled, we could almost see her counting the months until her birthday. Then she opened her penulitmate gift, a medium-sized box sent up by Trash’s Grandmother in Des Moines. Sure enough, it was the Foreman. SIL celebrated joyously in her chair. Her Christmas was complete. We moved on. Everybody’s attention was directed at the next person opening her gift; everybody but one, that is. “What is this??” SIL suddenly cried. Apparently she’d opened the box to look at the grill and the recipes inside. And there may well have been recipes inside. But there were also old photographs, older letters, and any number of random items. There sure as hell weren’t no George Foreman™ in there. Upon being presented with this irreplaceable collection of family documents and herilooms, this box of memories, this cubic foot of love and trust, SIL’s reaction was priceless: “Get it away from me right now.” My mother-in-law knew that Grandma had bought SIL a George Foreman, and assured her that Grandma had simply wrapped and sent the George Foreman box she’d used for filing by mistake, rather than the George Foreman box that contained SIL’s grill. Which was presumably still at Grandma’s house among several boxes of old photographs and letters. A swap would be effected, and everything would be cool. The bonus is that I can’t tell you how many times one of us has unwrapped a box at Christmas and asked, “is this really what’s in here? Really? YAY!” You’d think we’d have stopped getting stung by that kind of thing by now. SIL’s mood was immeasurably improved by her final gift, a clock that marks off the hours by playing recorded fart noises. * Like my neice Deniece (now eleven months old) opening a fascinating musical fingerpainting toy and then being rather confused but incredibly patient while her mom and her two aunts spent about ten minutes playing with it. My Brother in Law: You totally moved her hand away from it! Trash: I dd not! My Brother in Law: (after switching his camera to playback mode and spending ten minutes queuing up footage) Are you sure you didn’t move her hand? Trash: No. * Like the moment when my mother-in-law and stepfather-in-law opened up an envelope from SIL that included a note saying that SIL was going to be doing something pretty generous and thoughtful. Stepfather-in-law: (reading the note) SIL! This is too much. SIL: No, it’s not. Mother-in-law: Let me put on my glasses so I can read it. SFIL: It’s too much. SIL: It’s really not. MIL: Where are my glasses? SFIL: Really, it’s way too much. SIL: SFIL, it’s not either, now just… MIL: SFIL, have you seen my glasses? SFIL: This is so nice of you. This is too much. SIL: No, no, I just— MIL: Are they in the kitchen? SFIL: Really, SIL, this is too much. SIL: No, SFIL, it’s not. MIL: Oh, here they are. SFIL: SIL, thank you. Very, very much. SIL: You’re welcome. SFIL: It really is too much. SIL: It’s okay. SFIL: Thank you. SIL: You’re welcome. (They hug.) MIL: (reading the note) SIL! This is too much! Brother-in-law: I am so glad I got all that on tape. So am I, BIL. So am I. posted by M. Giant 3:26 PM 0 comments 0 Comments:
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