>When Christian & I decided not to go the cheesy (cheesey?) Vegas route due to its surprising lack of ease and kitsch, friends told us we had to register. I was opposed — I didn’t want to plan a big event and didn’t want a dress, cake, church, flowers, you name it — so I certainly wasn’t going to expect people to buy us things like china we would never, ever, ever use let alone have a place to store in our NYC apartment.
“Oh, trust us,” they insisted. “People will buy you things. They will want to get you things. If you aren’t registered, those things will be random and you’ll be stuck.”
So we registered. We were actually surprised at how much stuff we actually wanted and needed. Stuff we would probably never get for ourselves because why have a nice knife that looks great and is superior quality when the crappy one I have that I don’t even know how I got kind of slices the tomato that I sometimes need to slice when I occasionally cook at home? And the stuff came and we were stunned.
We are simply blown away by the generosity of our friends old and new and young and old. I love that all our comedian friends couldn’t resist writing silly notes in all the gift cards. I love that some random stranger at Crate & Barrel had to write a sexually suggestive note for a wedding gift and probably sniffily thought, “Well, that’s just not right.”*
So when the blue box from Tiffany arrived, I thought, “Who the fuck would get us something from Tiffany and what on earth will I do with it? ” I called Christian annoyed, “What if it’s some crystal vase-y (prounounced “vozzy”) thing?!”
Why did we bother with the register? I don’t want this. Let’s send it all back. We can do the courthouse just like when I got hitched at 17. That worked out okay and it was on Friday the 13th!
I was panicked. Oh no, here’s where the awkward gift thing comes in to play and this is precisely why I don’t “do” weddings and Christmas and other holidays. It wastes everybody’s money and time and who wants to eat cold food with people you don’t even know really when you could be with friends you chose and chose you too and who care enough to send you sexually charged notes with gifts from your registry?
When I got home I immediately ravaged the perfectly wrapped package expecting to unveil a Risky Business egg. Turns out it was a bowl. A beautiful, simple, white, crisp bowl with a dent it in it that Tiffany refers to as a “thumbprint”.
A few thoughts sprang:
— Hmmph, Tiffany makes bowls?
— Thank god it’s not crystal!
— I could actually find a use for this.
And I have. Found a use, that is. I love it. I’ve already used it as a bowl to float the severed head of a brilliant red Gerber daisy and to hold the contents of my popped smart pop mini-bag popcorn. I even love the robin’s egg blue box in which it arrived. So much so that I’m using it to store all our wedding cards.
I can’t wait to see the gift giver and tell them in person how perfect it is. Maybe out of guilt that I was annoyed at first but mostly because it’s such a simple and lovely thing. Sure, I feel guilty that I was annoyed. But give me a break, I lived in a shed. I don’t know what “nice” is. I didn’t even know what Tiffany’s was until I moved to New York and now I know they make exquisite bowls with dents for your thumb.
Sometimes you need to hate something first before you can love it better.
*Card accompanying the gift of two pewter curtain rods:
“We wanted to get you something romantic. Not sure if this is but perhaps we aren’t as creative as you two.”
I had to search and replace “I” for “we” and “my” for “our” for this entry. I want a divorce.