Confession: I suck at wrapping presents.
No, really. I do. I can't even wrap a square box. I know the sides are straight. I know that folding the paper with the pre-printed gridlines is supposed to be idiot-proof. But apparently it's not me-proof, because my boxes always end up looking like a Martha Stewart nightmare: ripped on the top side, puffy on the ends, and usually accidentally wrapped upside down, which means I need to destroy another tree and a half in an attempt to get it right. Again.
The Man: You know, if you ever divorce me, you ™ll never have decently wrapped presents in the house.
It's partly his fault I ™m so bad. He's so darn organized. Scissors go in the kitchen drawer. Tape goes in the office. Christmas wrap is in a container out in the garage. Na, na, na, na. Me? I keep everything in a pile on the kitchen counter from December 1 onward. It's easily accessible “and doubles as super-simple holiday decor.
I mean seriously, who doesn't associate mounds of tape and wrapping paper with the Christmas season?
But the Man put back my avante-garde display (Still Life of Half-Finished Holidays), and now I don't have the supplies handy when I need them to hold this thing together. I have to walk across the house to the office and get the tape. The Man put away my trusty can-of-beans-turned-paperweight, so I awkwardly tuck the half-wrapped gift under my arm and run to the office, attempting to hold the sides down and not rip anything.
I make it there safely. I get the tape and start to unroll it, but then realize I need the scissors, which are back in the kitchen. Back go I, wrapping paper flying.
This time something does rip. I patch it up with an inexpertly applied name label, which rips it worse. So I hit upon the excellent idea of covering the mess with a bow. But the pre-made bows have disappeared thanks to the machinations of whatever organized person was wrapping presents earlier, so I attempt to fabricate one out of discarded paper. Trash to treasure, right?
Sadly, it doesn't look like the eco-mags say it should. It looks like something a toddler made. Actually, it looks like something a toddler made and then an elephant sat on it and then a hurricane blew it across the Atlantic.
And the hurricane thing seems apt, because suddenly it is dripping, and then I realize that the tail end of the present accidentally knocked over my leak-proof thermos of tea, which has saturated the one properly-wrapped side of this $@%%$! gift.
Do you know what happens with wet paper? It tears. Soggily. There is now a sagging gash so wide that even a legion of crappy homemade wrapping paper bows can't help it.
I rescue the damp box from the wrapping paper and, with a sailor mouth that is guaranteeing me a spot on the top of Santa's naughty list, I crumple up four feet of sodden paper and lousy bows and start over. That is, I try to start over.
Because guess where the paper is? The garage. I think. I can't remember whether the tape's still in the office or not. I do have the scissors in hand, and had better put them down before I deliberately damage something. Or someone.
Oh, and the box is wettish, which means I need to dry it off before risking my already-miserable wrapping getting moldy under the tree. I stick the present under my bed and consider wrapping it in a black garbage bag and sticking on a nice red bow.
Actually, that sounds kind of unique. Now where could I find a bow . . .Confession: I suck at wrapping presents.
No, really. I do. I can't even wrap a square box. I know the sides are straight. I know that folding the paper with the pre-printed gridlines is supposed to be idiot-proof. But apparently it's not me-proof, because my boxes always end up looking like a Martha Stewart nightmare: ripped on the top side, puffy on the ends, and usually accidentally wrapped upside down, which means I need to destroy another tree and a half in an attempt to get it right. Again.
The Man: You know, if you ever divorce me, you ™ll never have decently wrapped presents in the house.
It's partly his fault I ™m so bad. He's so darn organized. Scissors go in the kitchen drawer. Tape goes in the office. Christmas wrap is in a container out in the garage. Na, na, na, na. Me? I keep everything in a pile on the kitchen counter from December 1 onward. It's easily accessible “and doubles as super-simple holiday decor.
I mean seriously, who doesn't associate mounds of tape and wrapping paper with the Christmas season?
But the Man put back my avante-garde display (Still Life of Half-Finished Holidays), and now I don't have the supplies handy when I need them to hold this thing together. I have to walk across the house to the office and get the tape. The Man put away my trusty can-of-beans-turned-paperweight, so I awkwardly tuck the half-wrapped gift under my arm and run to the office, attempting to hold the sides down and not rip anything.
I make it there safely. I get the tape and start to unroll it, but then realize I need the scissors, which are back in the kitchen. Back go I, wrapping paper flying.
This time something does rip. I patch it up with an inexpertly applied name label, which rips it worse. So I hit upon the excellent idea of covering the mess with a bow. But the pre-made bows have disappeared thanks to the machinations of whatever organized person was wrapping presents earlier, so I attempt to fabricate one out of discarded paper. Trash to treasure, right?
Sadly, it doesn't look like the eco-mags say it should. It looks like something a toddler made. Actually, it looks like something a toddler made and then an elephant sat on it and then a hurricane blew it across the Atlantic.
And the hurricane thing seems apt, because suddenly it is dripping, and then I realize that the tail end of the present accidentally knocked over my leak-proof thermos of tea, which has saturated the one properly-wrapped side of this $@%%$! gift.
Do you know what happens with wet paper? It tears. Soggily. There is now a sagging gash so wide that even a legion of crappy homemade wrapping paper bows can't help it.
I rescue the damp box from the wrapping paper and, with a sailor mouth that is guaranteeing me a spot on the top of Santa's naughty list, I crumple up four feet of sodden paper and lousy bows and start over. That is, I try to start over.
Because guess where the paper is? The garage. I think. I can't remember whether the tape's still in the office or not. I do have the scissors in hand, and had better put them down before I deliberately damage something. Or someone.
Oh, and the box is wettish, which means I need to dry it off before risking my already-miserable wrapping getting moldy under the tree. I stick the present under my bed and consider wrapping it in a black garbage bag and sticking on a nice red bow.
Actually, that sounds kind of unique. Now where could I find a bow . . .
I suck at it too. I had to watch the Container Store present-wrapping videos to suck less.