When Good Gifts Go Bad

Today I bought one of my children a present. I'm not going to say which one, because I don't want any of you to spoil the surprise. I'm not going to say what it was, because I bought it on ebay, and it may not even turn up. I will say how much it cost, because it was $2.75, which struck me as ridiculously cheap considering that the postage from Hong Kong was free. You can feel safe in assuming it wasn't an iPad, or a car, but it was something very sincere, and anyway, it's the thought that counts.

I love buying presents for my kids. I love buying presents for any of the people I really love. I get ridiculously excited about it. It doesn't matter how much the present costs or whether it is expected or not. It is wonderful to be able to bring joy to someone you care about.

Now, that's not to say that it's better to give than to receive, because of course that is utter nonsense. I love receiving gifts. LOVE it. The problem, of course, is that I rarely get gifts I really love, unless, that is, I have chosen them myself. Occasionally someone will hit the jackpot, but so often it's just not-quite-right. You know - I've dropped hints I want a new purse, but when it arrives it's just that fraction too small; or I ask for a friend to bring back a T-shirt from the US, and when they do it's V-neck tight in the sleeves.

But of course it's all good (I have to say that or I sound ungrateful) and I'm lucky to have people who care enough about me to buy gifts. And I'm certainly not the best gift buyer in the world. Right now I am wearing a fringed vest I bought for my friend Princess Fancy Pants* which I took back when I realised she had never worn it in her life. What's more, my children have discarded at least a third of the presents I've bought them - especially those I was truly thrilled about because they were an amazing bargain at Costco. SO annoying.

This is nothing like the vest Princess Fancy Pants rejected. But it is still a fringed vest.

But I'm totally sure my child is going to love their $2.75 present. And if they don't, I'm going to give it to Princess Fancy Pants.

After all, I'm wearing her vest.

*Name changed to avoid making her sound ungrateful

Have YOU Braved Colossal World?

Let me tell you, I was at the end of my tether. It was a rainy day, no-one had anything to do, and the children were driving me mad.

Not only was I at the end of my tether, I was also at the end of the last roll of toilet paper. I was also out of peanut butter, Vegemite, tomato sauce, cheese, and a variety of items required to keep a family of five from living on rice. In fact, we were even out of rice.

So the solution was obvious. Kill two birds with one stone, and take the three children with me to one of the Most Fun Places on Earth.

“We’re going to Colossal World!” I told them brightly.

“What’s Colossal World?” my son asked.

“Yay! Colossal World!” my four year old cheered.

“Huh...” my daughter said distractedly, which I took as a murmur of assent.

I bundled them into the car with promises of treats, and we drove the thirty minutes to Colossal World.

An hour and fifteen minutes later (because my Sat Nav is useless and I can’t follow instructions anyway) we arrived at the World itself. Except it’s not called Colossal World, even though it really should be. It’s Costco, the massive discount supermarket, and it truly is magnificent.

some minor actress in a supermarket

Magical things happen at Costco. It’s like drinking the shrinking potion in Alice in Wonderland and finding everything around you to be giant sized.  Look right and there are jars of chocolate wafers the size of your torso (the jars, that is. The wafers themselves are only the size of your head.). Look left and there are slabs of toilet paper three metres wide. You could invite fifty of your closest friends over for a party and give them each a take-home gift of three rolls of toilet paper and still you’d have some left over. (Of course, they’d think you were slightly odd, but WHO CARES??? It’s a GIANT SLAB OF TOILET PAPER!!!)

We bought all the stuff we needed – huge nets of oranges, ten-packs of toothpaste, immense tins of caramel-and-nut-encrusted popcorn (which one may argue isn’t strictly a ‘need’, until one tastes it, and realises it is essential to life) – and much stuff we didn’t. You see, here is the sneaky thing about Colossal World. They lure you in with their amazing value three kilo vats of smoked-salmon and half-dozen bags of genuine boiled bagels, get you drunk on savings and the bigness of it all, and then force you to walk down aisles filled with other tremendous bargains, so you end up spending five times as much as you would anywhere else.

I bought a set of five hair conditioners and five bottles of shampoo, in a brand I don’t use, for a type of hair I don’t have. I bought a Hello Kitty sticker book for my youngest daughter, despite her not knowing Hello Kitty, and having several sticker books already. I bought more tomato sauce than I could use in a decade, and more cheese than we can fit in the fridge. Oh, and two giant water soakers for the kids, which is final proof that Costco has the power to completely strip you of your reason.

So in the end, it was very much like any other family activity. You get home totally exhausted, having spent vast quantities of cash, and vow not to return for at least another year.

Unlike any other activity, though, the popcorn is amazing.