Earlier today, Betty called to ask what I wanted for my wedding shower. I was touched--Betty gives *awesome* presents, and since the shower is not for three weeks, I was tickled that she was thinking about it already--but I was also like, oh gosh, I don't need wedding shower presents! I should have asked my sister to put that on the invitation. People are already going to be trekking to the Berkshires, plunking down $$ for a hotel, and contributing to my highly unnecessary trousseau--shedding light on my preference in vases seemed an embarrassment, and not just of riches.
Since, as Betty pointed out, the invite hadn't read, "Your presence is all the giftitude I need," I gave her some guidance (turned out to be unhelpful, actually--I told her I had reached capacity with bags for the moment, only to learn that she'd found one she thought I'd like); we moved on to other subjects; I didn't think much about how I am not often the ideal presents-recipient.
Later today, going through my "Tax Stuff" folder, I thought, "Oh, let's see what's lurking in the 'Gift Certificates' file, too." I already have gift certificates elsewhere, mind you. They're in my wallet or on my desk if I don't think I'll use them often (which only means they're the exact one I'll spontaneously want and not have), or maybe they're hiding out in my 12-inch inbox. I was curious and excited, though, to see what that potentially neglected Gift Certificates folder might yield.
I should have known myself better. First, there was the $6.24 remainder of a gift certificate to the independent bookstore down the street--from 2006. I could totally have used that when I bought
former advisor Rita Williams-Garcia's latest book, JUMPED, in hardcover the other day. (It's so good! Hilarious and chilling! You have to read it.)
It got worse, though. Much, much worse.
Fifty dollars to The Strand--from 2001! A hand-lettered gift certificate. Do they even honor those anymore? Would they trendily bespecled Strand employees laugh in my face if I tried to spend it there? Say, "Thanks, sistah, but we ain't sellin' you no tote bags?" (Oh wait, I don't need any more bags.)
Worse than that, though: Crate and Barrel from 1999. 1999! That's ten years ago! When we were partying like it was! And even more sadly, there's nothing I really want from Crate and Barrel. Well, we may partly register there. But only because we can't think of anyplace else people can send dollars they don't want to donate to turtles.
The very saddest was at the back of the folder. A square enveloped, wrinkled. I was pretty sure I knew where those gift certificates were meant to be spent.
HMV: Her Majesty's Video. The hottest New York record store back in
1990! I'm sure I got the gift certificates after that--say, in 1998--but this store literally no longer exists. The envelope held little square mini-records in various denominations, and reader, I could not bring myself to do the math.
Not that I'm so great at the math, mind you. I called my mom so she could laugh at my plight and I said, "Well, I guess it's an investment. I mean, I bet the dollar was stronger in 1999 than it is now."
"Yes," she said, "but things are more expensive."
Duh! Of course they are. I'm a lousy spender and economic imbecile to boot.
I know that our nation got into trouble with an overload of consumer confidence, optimistic home purchases, and thick slabs of greed. But failing to buy things that have already been paid for, then mistakenly thinking you've got the long end of the stick--well, that just needs some adjustment. If anybody wants to send me to a night-school course in economics, I'm all ears. Of course, most of you readers don't even live here. You don't know where I should take such a course. You might just have to get me a gift certificate.
Labels: Betty, Consumed
