The Gift


When it comes to gifts, I like to think I’m pretty easy to buy for. In fact, I reckon you can’t go wrong with chocolate or alcohol or a big old bunch of sunflowers. I’m an easy girl, really. My beloved? Beer. Beer and hardware. See? It’s pretty easy.

This is why I was so fucking horrified when the cat very proudly presented us with a MOUSE last night. Ungrateful little cow.

We bring her inside at night now – she’s still not strong enough to do battle with the neighbourhood bully cats of a night time, so inside she comes. Last night, my beloved opened the door and called Fidge, who appeared with a meow that can only be described as smug. Beloved’s voice faltered slightly as she announced, “oh. She’s brought us a present.”.

I held a small hope that this present might indeed have been chocolate or money or a petrol voucher.

It was none of these things.

Fidge then proceeded to play with her mouse on the front verandah for an hour.

When she finally came in, the mouse’s head had fallen off and it’s tail and guts were near my Crocs. I’m living in fear of finding the head end somewhere.

But this got me thinking.

My beloved and I discussed Valentine’s day yesterday, and I proposed that we cap it at $30 and focus on creating a memory or experience instead of presents. This is the kind of shit that makes my weird little heart happy.

At Christmas, my sister and I make a Santa sack for each other. Shopping for the items to fill the sack usually starts around February and continues throughout the year.

I’m the kind of person who will hear you mention something you like and then track it down and send it to you. Yes that may mean that in July you receive a strange pair of socks that you admired once on a small child. Yes that may mean I spend a lot of time trawling through eBay or Googling terms such as “screaming flying monkey toy”, but it’s the way I do things.

Then I found out that sometimes people pay compliments or admire things by way of making conversation, which is one of those nuances I am still getting my head around. I think even when I understand that nuance, I’ll still be searching for stuff like “adult sized grippy socks” and the like.

Because here we have it, the core of what makes a good gift:


You can’t buy that shit.

You can waste it, you can spend it, you can share it, you can lose it.

But you can’t buy it.

You make it, then choose how you allot it.

And I like putting time into my friends. And if that means you get a screaming flying money slingshot toy for Christmas, so be it.

A mouse though, Fidge?

That’s just fucked.


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