A Dude’s Guide

I rather pity my little dudes. They think Santa has all the wrapping ability of a coked-out, epileptic chimpanzee that has had his thumbs cut off and surgically reattached to his forehead. Although, really, they’re not sure why the thumbs ended up on the chimp’s forehead. One of life’s little mysteries.

The problem, of course, is that their mother is too busy to wrap too many gifts. Which means it’s all up to a certain wrapping-skill-deficient big dude to fill in the slack. It’s just too bad that I’m of the opinion that a white, plastic Wal-Mart bag, held closed with duct tape, is perfectly servicable as wrapping. That idea didn’t survive first contact with the enemy my wife, known to me as She Who Demands Actual Wrapping Paper On Gifts. You know, you wouldn’t think getting hit over the head with the cardboard core of a wrapping paper roll would hurt, but there are some with skillz in inflicting that sort of pain. I married one of those. Wheeee!

Seriously, when I was growing up, I hardly ever had to wrap anything. When I went to a birthday party, I had my mom to wrap the present for me. That worked real well. I tried to get her to wrap the presents for my little dudes last year, but it didn’t work out so well. She kept laughing so hard I finally had to hang up the phone.

My obvious lack of present-wrapping fu does have a good side, though. I’m basically supporting my youngest little dude’s school fundraising drive. See, they sell wrapping paper and I go through the stuff like you wouldn’t believe. Also tape by the carton. It’s not pretty, but at least I can tell if someone’s been trying to get into the presents because, when they get rewrapped, they usually look better than my own work.

I decided that the next generation wouldn’t be a wrapping doofus like me. I’ve started having their mom give them wrapping lessons. They’re not all that happy about it, but it should help in later life. The first lesson they received, I tried to learn along with them but my inner chimp came out and I spazzed through it and got kicked out of the lesson for providing a bad example. I staggered out the door, gasping, “I can’t make it. Go on without me.” Then I dodged flying cardboard tubes.

– Richard

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