Case in point: Why Lauren hates Christmas lists

The phone rings a scary Japanese ring. Lauren scrambles over the tatami, sliding in socks across the kitchen floor, answers the phone the American way, for fear of creeping out another friend. It’s her mother, and how does she know?…because her mother feels the need to pre-empt discussion with, “It’s your mother.” As if I would have forgotten that I didn’t just magically appear out of thin air, materialize and descend from Venus, or galaxies farther than the mind can accept. We bullshit, how are you, how’s the dog, three minutes tops. Then she busts into the reason for calling.

Mother: “You never emailed me your Christmas list.”
Lauren: “Because I don’t have one.”
M: “There must be something you want for Christmas. Just tell me.”
L: “Fine, I want you to name a star after me.”
M: “Seriously.”
L: “I am serious.”
M: “Seriously!”
L: “Fine, a million dollars.”
M: “Seriously, this phone call isn’t getting any cheaper.”
L: “I bet if you were the kind of person to dole out a million dollars as a Christmas gift you wouldn’t complain about international call rates. I retract my previous request.”
M: “What do you want?”
L: “Nothing. Just get what you didn’t get me last year.”
M: “But you got everything.” (don’t roll your eyes, I never asked to be spoiled)
L: “Fine.” And here I proceed to rattle off a few books, dvds and the name of a Jacqueline du Pre cd.
M: “That’s too complicated. I’ll just get you a gift certificate.”

What the fuck. Why ask if you’re a) going to ruin the surprise, which is undoubtedly better than the gift itself and b) not going to take my suggestions to heart. Furthermore, I don’t care for people buying me something simply on the basis that I requested it. I splurge, way too fucking much. If there’s something I want, I’ll buy it. I want you to browse through the aisles of some tacky store, come across something so kitsch, so insane, so completely fucking useless that you think to yourself, “Who, in their right mind could possibly enjoy this? Lauren MUST have it.” That’s what I want.

That’s not to say I only want crap. Though I don’t really care. But I don’t want to ask for books when half the fun is wandering the bookstore…why deny myself that pleasure because you feel a familial obligation to get me something on a yearly basis. Well, biyearly I suppose, considering birthdays. I don’t want to ask for anything too expensive, you’ll think I’m presumptuous, or anything too small, you’ll think I’m modest. And I hate having to limit my wants to what I feel would most appropriately fit within your price range, level of intimacy, tenure as a friend, etc. So no more Christmas lists. I boycott. Donate the money to charity, buy me a sugar cookie, make me a horribly tacky picture frame…do what you deem fit, I’m unworthy to do so.