We concluded that everyone involved
needed a gift. Our wonderful flower girl dropped the hint that her friend, who
was a flower girl, got an engraved locket. So we had to go get an engraved
locket. Some kind of Jedi mind trick that was.
We did not find the right design
and price level at the jewelers. (One dissuading factor was the sales pitch
highlighting the piece’s power to draw attention to the chest. Since we weren’t
trying to enhance the cleavage of our seven-year-old niece, we had to pass.) So
we went to the mall’s finest engrave-anything store and came across a lovely
specimen that could be engraved for a reasonable price, and one gift was done.
Next, we had to find an equivalent
gift for the Ring Bear. I don’t know if this was a symptom of the crafties or
not, but we went to the Build-a-Bear store, trying to find a suitable bear in
tux. I had my moment of clarity, when I saw myself in a mirror, debating the
merits of teddy bear shoes, while wearing my latest hand-knitted sweater vest.
I no longer recognized the face looking back but loved my outfit and wondered
where I could get one for myself. Christa touched my arm, and the spell was
momentarily broken.
I said, “We need to leave. The guy
in the sweater vest is creeping me out.”
She groaned, and we exited without
a bear. Panic set in, as our time limit for co-existing in a shopping mall is
about twenty minutes.
Thank the Lord for Pottery Barn
Kids and their decision to stock a bear the size of a badger with a glandular
problem.
“Look—a bear,” she said, fifty
yards from the store.
“What do you have, bear-dar?” I
asked, as we closed in at a brisk pace.
“It’s the gift of shopping,” she
said, hoisting the bear up for inspection.
“It’s fuzzy and fat,” I said.
“It’s perfect,” she replied.
It was paid for in record time, and
we both fled for fresh air. “Chariots of Fire” was playing in my head, as we
ran in slow motion to the car, having completed another task on our checklist.
That feeling lasted until the
Thursday before the wedding, when Christa decided that our parents needed
something. They had put so much effort and financing into the wedding, it would
be rude not to get them something when everybody
else got something. I agreed with the argument but felt the timing could have
been better.
Christa was perfectly fine buying
things at the last minute, since that was when the idea came to her. But recall
from my groomsmen gifts that, when someone knows what he is getting and chooses
to wait until a later time, maybe the last minute, then procrastination is
annoying. Only a person can procrastinate, not a brain.
Allow me a tangential paragraph.
What some people call procrastination is actually advanced financial thinking.
Last-minute revelations do not have an interest-earned benefit, but
procrastination does. I sacrificed approximately four cents of interest by
buying my man bags early, clearing my calendar for when Ms. (future Mrs.)
Last-Minute Revelation decided to get picture frames for our parents. Listen up
kids, with compounding interest my forfeited four cents would have been a
quarter by the time we reach retirement. But I gave up my dream of being able
to pay for five minutes of curbside parking for my land speeder in 2045 to
allow for last-minute gifting emergencies.
In my later years, say about 2045,
I intend to sit barefoot on top of a grassy hill in a pleasant climate. I will
be surrounded by animals of friendly disposition and questionable looks, while
I endow with great understanding of the world those who seek my counsel for the
very affordable and symbolic rate of twenty-five cents—paid directly to the
meter at the base of the hill, where my land speeder will be parked.
On Friday, we went to Bloomington,
arising extra early to allow a stop at Macy’s in downtown Cincinnati, where we
would search for a wondrous picture frame for each set of parents. What set of
parents doesn’t over-purchase wedding photos? Plus, history had shown us to be
extremely efficient frame shoppers.
It was understood that there would
be a very limited amount of time and that I should be nothing, if not
agreeable. Fortunately for our nonexistent budget, the wonderful people at
Waterford had a crystal frame with a heart at the top.
“It’s a little expensive,” I said.
“It’s the only good one here,” she
replied. “And we need to get them something, even though we can never repay
them for all they’ve done.”
“If it’s not possible to repay
them, then why even try? Let’s simply acknowledge the fact,” I responded.
“Honey, it’s your parents!”
“Fine. Let’s get it and go.”
“We have to gift wrap it.”
