The Return of The Gifts!

Yesterday, I went to one of these “Departmental Stores” to buy a gift for yet another birthday. I am positively puking with the number of birthdays I’ve had to attend these past few weeks! And I’ve developed an abhorrence towards Winnie the Pooh. I used to think of Pooh as adorable and cuddly and sweet; now, I detest the very sight of that red-vested, honey-hogging glutton of a bear! One of the birthday parties I went to had the critter plastered all over: in cut-outs, wrappers, stickers, and what-not! To top it all, the “return gift” was a book with Tigger bouncing all over the place! I wanted to bounce right out of the party.

Which brings me to another crib. Who started this habit of return gifts? Doubtless some adult who didn’t feel like going all the way to the store to return something he/she didn’t want anyway. Has anyone ever experienced the sheer frustration of choosing a return gift which satisfies ALL the following criteria:

1. Looks good
2. Looks substantial
3. Is useful
4. Within budget
5. Store has enough pieces

Which brings me to the topic of lil D’s birthday. We didn’t plan on celebrating it with cake-vake and stuff like that. My mother was aghast. What do you mean, she thundered over the phone, how can you inflict such punishment on your little girl? Don’t you know the rule? You HAVE to celebrate birthdays till kids are five years old. (After that, they’ll organize the parties themselves – by issuing all the invites unbeknownest to you, of course!) I meekly surrendered. Mothers know best, I consoled myself. And made my TO-DO list in greatest detail.

1. Streamers
2. Balloons
3. Cake
4. Snacks
5. RETURN GIFTS

I optimistically marched off to the nearest supermarket. Alas, foolish me! Little did I suspect what lay in store for me. I found cute photo-frames – sorry madam, we have only these 8 pieces. I found cute bowls – sorry madam, we don’t have any more unsealed pieces. I found cute boxes – way above budget. I found a humungous collection of plastic brushes – I couldn’t see them being useful except for mothers to spank their kids, which new-age mothers don’t believe in anyway. I found another set of cute bowls – with black marks in EACH and EVERY one of them – what HAD they been used for?

I was weary from trudging 5 kms up and down the aisles of the brightly lit store, and panicking every time my mobile beeped with an SMS from baby-sitting DH. Out of desperation, I closed my eyes, picked up the first thing I could see, and lugged a crateful to the check-out counter before you could say “Winnie the Pooh”.

Utter chaos characterized the party with spilt Coke, smashed cake, crushed chips, overflowing garbage bags, and an overstuffed fridge. But I must admit, mothers do know best: lil D had an absolutely smashing time and was thrilled to bits by the whole affair.

I’ve digressed so much from what I originally wanted to write about (about the departmental store and memories of other stores, just in case you're curious), so I’ll just stop here and save that for another blog.