Pony Tales

Did you get that pony you wanted for Christmas? Me neither, but I got something better.

As an only child with competitive grandparents, you can imagine how spoiled I was. Plus, I was cute as hell. When I was little, my eyes were violet (I’m told my grandfather called me his “little Liz Taylor”, he died in 1975 so I have no corroboration.) The violet aged to a middling green, the black curls and chubby cheeks are now gray curls and saggy jowls, but I digress. The point is I got lots of stuff at Christmas. The toys were ignored after a week and the dolls gathered dust on a shelf, but I still have a lot of the books. It was fun enough, but not memorable.

Fast-forward to this morning. Robert found me two new books by favorite authors; books I didn’t even know existed! And he got me a beautiful standing punching bag which we’ve already named after a dearly beloved but often irritating friend. I scored, first by marrying a superb gift-giver, and then by extension. But it made me think about the pony.

For all their cuteness, children lack perspective. It’s not their fault, so do most adults. We have expectations un-limned by reality. If I thought about it, I would know that spending an extra $20 for face cream won’t make me look ten years younger. Dark colors may be slimming, but they don’t replace time on the treadmill. Somebody else’s annoying habits are equally annoying when we do the same things. But the trade-off is Christmas.

The adult equivalent of a pony is a new car. None of us expects to see one under the tree, so it’s not a disappointment when it’s not there. A rational adult is happy with a thoughtful gesture. Sure, an electric drill for an un-handy person or a diet book for a fat one won’t delight. But put a moment of consideration into who’s gonna get it, and you’ll make them happy.

I even made someone happy by not giving a gift at all, but he’s the friend after whom my new punching bag is named. Like I said, he can be irritating.