Making a List, Checking It Twice (And Deleting It Once)

“Kit, I’m making my Christmas list, and I’d like to get you something you really want.”

“I don’t want anything, Val. Just come spend the day with Larry and me. That will be more than enough present. You are still coming, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And for crying out loud, I’m begging you, don’t go wasting your money at Family Dollar. I don’t need a thing.”

I ignored her, and since I had a big, fat Christmas bonus coming, I put a question mark next to her name.

“Hi, Mom, it’s me.”

“Who?”

“Valerie. Your daughter. Remember, you went to the hospital about fifty years ago, and they sent you home with a little baby.”

“Oh, are you that baby? How could I forget? Seventy-two hours of excruciating labor, and then you howled nonstop for a month.”

“That’s the one. I’m calling because I’m starting my Christmas list, and I wondered if there is anything you and William particularly want.”

“Valerie, don’t go squandering your money on William Stuckey and me. We don’t want a thing.”

“Seriously, Mom, I’m expecting a huge bonus from work, so don’t worry about the cost.”

“Well, why don’t you spend it on yourself? Get a decent haircut, or join one of those gyms.”

“Er, no, I love my haircut, and I hate gyms.”

“You know, Valerie, it’s bad manners to ask people what they want for Christmas—”

“Oops, my other line is ringing; gotta go. Forget I called.”

“Emily, it’s Mom. I know it’s early, but I’m making my Christmas list. Anything in particular you and Luke would like? And don’t hold back. I have an enormous Christmas bonus coming.”

“Oh, Mom, Luke and I were just talking about this very thing. What we would like . . .”

“Yes, tell me. Anything.”

“We’d like you to make a donation to a charity; it would mean so much.”

“What are you thinking? Whales, baby seals?”

“Show Dogs.”

“Show . . . dogs? Do show dogs really require a charity?”

“Yes. It’s the name of a rescue shelter for homeless dogs.”

“Hmm. Didn’t you tell me about an antique bookcase you have your eye on?”

“Mom, some of the dogs are vision impaired; they would have no use for bookcases or even books.”

“Well, I meant the bookcase would be for you—oh, never mind. I see your point. Because some of the dogs can’t see. Or read.”

“Exactly.”

“Let me think about it some more.”

“What are you doing, Val?”

“Oh, hi, Tom, best boss in the whole world; I’m making my Christmas list with the help of that gigantic bonus we’ve got coming—”

“Yeah, yeah, about that bonus—”

“Don’t worry, you’re on the list too. How about a bottle of that Louis XVI cognac you like?”

“It’s Louis XIII, and it costs seven grand, and about that bonus—”

“Oh, that much? Do they perhaps sell it in those little airline bottles? Maybe a couple of those—”

“Sorry, Val, but there won’t be a bonus this year; we lost that big sale on Main Street, and it looks like the Higginbothams are pulling out of—”

“Wait! No bonus? But I thought—”

“Sorry, Kiddo. Maybe later in the year we can catch up moneywise . . .”

I deleted my list and opened the website for Edible Arrangements. Who doesn’t like winter fruit? Even a vision-impaired mutt can enjoy a pomegranate.