Watson wrote me a guest post, because her explanation of what she was doing was too good not to share. It also might be a bribe to sit her dog while she’s away this weekend . . .
I gift-wrapped a plunger yesterday morning.
This is not the first, nor even the third, time I’ve done that. And I’m pretty sure it won’t be the last.
And no, it’s not a joke or OCD.
The daughter of my good friend Denise, whom I met at the race track years ago and adopted into my extended motorcycle family, is getting married this weekend. So Celie will be receiving the customary Watson Wedding Gift this weekend.
You see, the Wesson family has a long-standing tradition of giving the essentials—the non-glamorous gifts that receive a WTF look when first opened,* but two years later get a heart-felt “that was the BEST PRESENT EVER!”
At baby showers, we give shop rags and carpet cleaner. You know, those fabulously unfabulous essentials.
Setting up a household is expensive. And buying all the crap to keep a household running and clean is REALLY expensive. So I like to give cleaning brushes for the bathroom and kitchen, mops and brooms, sponges and reusable rubber gloves and disposable rubber gloves, all kinds of cleaning agents for kitchen and bath, toilet bowl cleaners and yes, a plunger—because lemme tell ya, when you don’t have one and you need one, wow.
There’s band aids and hydrogen peroxide and Neosporin in there too. And a roll of duct tape and a black sharpie.
This ain’t my first rodeo.
All of this fits nicely in a 5 gallon bucket, which every household also needs (see note about not having one and needing one).**
And of course, because I am a Wesson, I have to be both practical AND obnoxious, so I individually gift wrapped EVERY PIECE.
In addition to the plunger, I gift wrapped the scrub brush. And a whisk broom set. And a bottle of Windex. And the sharpie. And yes, I’m going to buy two large lovely bows to top the plunger and the toilet bowl brush.
They’re just lucky I didn’t do what I did to my brother and wrap his gifts in duct tape (talk about your long-standing, really hard to explain family traditions).
And (big sigh) this present is going to be my introduction to the groom and his parents.
Welcome to the motorcycle racing family, y’all.
I had a ball running through Target, grabbing all the stuff. In that Classic Midwestern strike-up-a-conversation-with-a-stranger way, I even had a couple of little old ladies happily chipping in their two cents.
What else would you have included?
*Sarah’s note: My mother had her own tradition of buying underwear for potential sons-in-law. I assume it was a test of some sort, or perhaps a warning. My husband passed with remarkable aplomb; he didn’t even run, when I admitted that I had no idea how she knew his size.
**Sarah’s note: This is so true—when I was first married, I didn’t know you had to buy buckets. Buckets—like Pepto Bismol in the medicine cabinet—just happened. Except they really, really didn’t.