Wow...both of you. Still thinking about mine.

Too many from which to choose?

Kind of, unfortunately.

I took the coward's route, and went with someone else's story. It's a true story though, and there's much more going on than what is in those 100 words. It's part of one of my someday-this-will-be-a-series series of books.

Christmas:

Christmas at my husband’s grandparents was always a little awkward. My father in law was deferential in all things to both his parents. My mother-in-law was on eggshells as usual. A queer, fake smile plastered on her face.

My mother-in-law always opened her gift last. She usually only had one but smiled and politely unwrapped whatever they handed to her.

The brownish lump was vaguely squirrel shaped. The package said "Zoo Doo.” My mother-in-law continued smiling and said, "Thank you, June. It will be perfect for my garden."

Only, she didn't keep a garden. When I had time to take a closer look, I examined the package--the local zoo had created these packages as a fundraising project. Collecting dried dung from the animals and shaping them into other animals to sell as gag gifts.

I couldn't believe my mother-in-law's mother-in-law gave her shit for Christmas.

Oh my. True story or did you just let your imagination take off on the topic?

True story, sadly. Whenever I worry about my MiL, I think of what she's had to deal with for 35 years.

Oh man.

Mine is stolen from my friend Jen. She has also received a giant neon fleecy top, and the world's cheapest drugstore crack-whores-think-it's-tacky perfume from them.

Poor Jen

Dear J,

Thank you for replacing my honest, inner, eye with the scrutiny of someone from the outside who is shallow, insecure, and surface-obsessed. I only rarely do anything, from the time I’ve been about fourteen without at least momentarily considering how it will look to some idiot watching...thanks for relieving me of some of that pesky self-esteem.

Thank you for underlining all my imperfections, especially the ones that fate kind of dumped on me. I’m sure I’d never know I was the girl in the wheelchair without your dragging it into the forefront of all the conversations we used to have...thanks for continually defining my place for me in the name of setting realistic expectations.

Thank you for your constant inane chatter, because you know reflective people turn into psycho killers.

Thank you for constantly encouraging me to live a lie to get a man to buy me toys because it taught me early on that hero worship should have limits.(Not early enough, though.) Thanks for “allowing” me to overhear that you almost considered not marrying my dad over me because that way I got The Evillest Thing anyone ever said about me over before high school, and no, that never fucking hurt at all. Thank you for causing that unnecessary part of my teenage heart to die, just to prove...what was the lesson, there, exactly...I’ve paid for it. I think I should know.
But you have given me some of the anger and skepticism to get through this tough life I have and the insight into thinking pleasurably of another’s demise that will make me a great artist while you’re still partying like it’s 1989. Thanks again.

And once you have done all this, thanks for “breaking up with me,” and leaving me wondering for many years in what way I failed to please.

Your formerly devoted stepdaughter