Written By Cathy Drinkwater Better
Gift-giving is a highlight of the holiday season for me. Whether it is Christmas or Hanukkah presents, or just small token gifts, I take pride in matching the item to the person.
But not everyone gets the same kick out of shopping that I do, or gives as much thought to what the recipient needs or wants. Or what gender they are. Or what size they wear. Or what kind of music, books or wine they like. Or whether they’re violently allergic to wool, peanuts, or Broadway musicals. Or if they’d rather stick their heads in a giant industrial fan than play video games.
Apparently some people just pick up the first thing they see and cram it in a gift bag. Instead of, “Thank you,” presents like that make us want to say, “Have you met me?”
But, whether it was a death-metal CD, a faux-fur shoulder bag that looked like roadkill with a zipper in it, or a gift certificate for a pound of live bait, in the past I always accepted graciously, then stowed it in the hall closet, along with those size 10 mukluks and the basket of beauty products made from yak milk.
Until the day I found myself in something of holiday pickle. We had a full house for Christmas dinner and I was basting the turkey when one of the kids showed up with an extra friend. Setting another place isn’t a problem; I always make enough food to feed an army. But I couldn’t have our unexpected guest go empty-handed at gift-opening time. What to do?
Then it hit me: I had a closet full of brand new, unopened, perfectly serviceable (albeit unwanted) gifts right upstairs, just waiting for the right person to claim them. After sizing up my son’s friend, I took the stairs two at a time.
A short while later there was a lovely pink mohair beret-and-gloves set under the tree with her name on it, all wrapped in red and gold. (I always knew being allergic to wool would come in handy someday.)
But the guilt of that first regifting experience haunted me. I felt like a big fat cheater. Finally I couldn’t take it any more; I had to confess–and I’m not even Catholic.
“Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned,” I began. “I regifted a hat and a pair of gloves.”
“Don’t worry about it, my child,” came the reply from the other side of the screen. “Last Christmas I gave the bishop a lovely chalice someone had given me the year before. I already had one just like it, and the bishop thought it was charming!”
I felt as if a weight had been lifted from my shoulders. Instantly I had visions of reclaiming some closet space. But even at the outset I knew these things had to be done delicately. You can’t just regift with wild abandon; there have to be some ground rules.
The two most basic rules are: 1) Make sure the original giver never finds out that you’ve regifted their present. You don’t want them to think you’re ungrateful; and you definitely don’t want to hurt their feelings. And, 2) Make sure that the receiver doesn’t know they’re being regifted; because you don’t want them to think they’re getting used goods (which, technically, they’re not) or that you don’t care enough about them to go shopping.
The first thing I did was create a spreadsheet to track gifts, givers, geographical locations, and dates of receipt. When regifting, it’s best to spread out the wealth-that is, regift as far away from the original giver as possible, and after a suitable waiting period. For example, if your cubicle-mate Angela gives you a box of hard-center chocolates on Wednesday, you don’t want to turn around and give that same box of candy to your friend Susie in accounting (six cubicles away) on Friday-even if hard centers do play havoc with your bridgework. Not, that is, if you want Angela to keep speaking to you.
After a few regifting successes, my confidence grew. And the more I regifted, the more I learned. My list of “rules” grew with every holiday or special event.
Rule number 3: Never give away anything with potential sentimental value. For example, if you give away that picture frame from your old college roommate, even though it’s hideous and doesn’t match your dcor, you’ll regret it. Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow, but soon and for the rest of your life.
Rule number 4: Regift only between non-relatives. I don’t care if it’s your seventh cousin eight times removed; don’t regift anything between them and your husband’s uncle’s third wife’s nephew’s sister-in-law’s niece, even if she lives in St. Louis. Trust me, it will come back to bite you.
Rule number 5: Don’t get lazy; use regifting only as a last resort. Yes, the rush you get from being able to wrap up a present for someone without actually having to go shopping can be intoxicatingÉbut it’s also addictive. Eventually, when you’ve depleted your store of regiftable items, it could lead to regifting your own nearly new thingsÉthen items you’re tired ofÉand next thing you know, you’re giving somebody your old blender for Christmas, along with the milkshake-stained recipe booklet that came with it. Let that happen, and you’re headed for Regifters Anonymous.
But even if you follow the rules, you can hit the occasional pitfall. Like the year everything went completely to pieces right before my eyes.
It was our turn to host the neighborhood holiday get-together, traditionally held between Christmas and New Year’s. As people began to arrive, I suddenly realized that I’d neglected to pick up a gift for one of the couples.
With no time to check my regifting spreadsheet, there was only one thing to do.
“Psssssst!” I whispered across the room, cleverly getting my husband Doug’s attention and apprising him of the situation. “Grab a gift from under the tree–something we got from the family–and sneak upstairs and rewrap it,” I told him. “Hurry!”
I created a diversion (“Look! The cat is throwing up tinsel! Oh, false alarmÉit’s only a hairball.”), while Doug edged over to the Christmas tree, bent down as if to tie his shoe (he was wearing loafers, but no one seemed to notice), and seized the package closest to him. Hiding the box behind him and trying to look nonchalant, he made his way from the family room through the kitchen, to the dining room, the living room and up the stairs.
Five minutes later he returned, retracing the same circuitous route. I created another diversion (“Look! The other cat has curling ribbon coming out her butt!” And this time it wasn’t a false alarm, either) while he slipped the gift under the tree.
When it came time for presents, we started with a fondue set that had been going around among our little group for four years. I’d gotten it last year, and by some data-entry mistake on my spreadsheet, had managed to regift it to the couple who had given it originally.
They give me dirty look. The wife asked, “Isn’t this the set we gave the Plotkins four years ago, that they gave to the McElroys, that the McElroys gave you last year?”
“Absolutely not!” I said, fingers crossed behind my back. “We loved ours so much, we thought you might like one. I’d fire ours up right now, but the food table is already so fullÉ” I was sweating bullets. The McElroys looked guilty, and the Plotkins wouldn’t meet anyone’s eyes. Mr. P. jumped up to get more eggnog and Mrs. P. rushed off to the powder room.
Finally it was time for the couple whose gift I’d forgotten to buy to open their present. “You gave the Martins the Waterford crystal wine goblets my mother gave us?” I hissed at Doug through clenched teeth. “Are you insane?”
“It was the only thing I could reach without falling into the fireplace,” he said defensively.
“My Waterford crystal wine goblets?” I repeated. I dragged Doug over under mistletoe while the our friends admired their new crystal, cradling the glasses gently in their hands. The others, holding ceramic tea pots and incense collections, looked on jealously. The wife shed one huge tear of happiness as she pinged a crystal rim with her fingernail and it rang out, bell-like, the way Waterford crystal should.
Beneath the mistletoe, I threw my arms around Doug’s neck and pretended to kiss his check. “I’m going to kill you,” I murmured into his ear, squeezing his neck hard. “Make no mistake. As soon as these people leave, I am going to kill you.”
Then I went to the kitchen to get a platter of hot wings and plan the perfect murder. Nobody regifts my Waterford crystal wine goblets and lives.
I still believe in regifting. Although I once approached it as a science, I now realize that regifting is more of an art. Its strength lies in balance and harmony, not merely data entry. Think of it as “cosmic recycling.” It’s good for the planet, good for the soul, and good for the universe. We’re simply shuffling the deck so that the right gift goes to the right person after all–sort of giving destiny a helpful shove while making sure nothing goes to waste. That way, everyone is happy in the end (as long as you keep your spreadsheet up to date and follow the rules).
