Somebody left an Avon catalog on my door nob and it reminded me of when Wicked Stepmother sold (her potions) Avon for awhile. My stepsisters and I (before child labor laws) had to go around on Saturday afternoons and put that crap on everyone's doors and for Christmas and birthdays guess what we got? There's nothing more exciting to a kid than a collection of seashell-shaped scented soaps, let me tell you.
Actually, my parents have always kind of sucked at gift giving. We'd get things like hairdryers for our birthday, or luggage for graduation. A few years ago I got a set of four Christmas mugs and decorative holiday hand towels. My husband got a big can of nuts. Normally, I am not a materialistic person and I'm usually all it's-the-thought-that-counts, but that particular year my younger sister got a boob job.(Technically I guess she's my adopted half-sister? Most of the time I just call her The Golden Child. Or Unholy Spawn, as she was the sole offspring of my parents evil union.) To go along with the total body lift she needed after losing like a hundred pounds from her gastric bypass surgery. (Which, by the way, I was also still pissed about because 1) if she was going to suck all the resources from our parents and receive all their love and attention the least she could do was stay fat. 2) If she wanted to lose weight she should have tried being bulimic like the rest of us. I swear, the youngest always have it so much easier.)
I think my husband was even more upset that year than I was. As he walked out to the car (clutching his massive can of nuts) he asked, "Think there's any chance they'll get you a boob job next year?"
0 comments:
Post a Comment