I thought today I would share a part of the inner me. That inner me is something that I hate about myself and really I hate to share it but I hope that this is therapeutic.

My confession is gifts. I hate everything about gifts. I hate the whole process from wondering about what is the appropriate gift to shopping for the gift to wrapping the gift to physically handing the gift over. It is all painful to me. I am not good at it. I don’t understand it. I am lousy with gifts.

Maybe this all comes from my deep hatred of shopping. I hate to shop. I only shop as a utilitarian function of my life. Need food buy food. Ugh Ugh. Beat Chest retreat to cave.

Now before you judgmental jerks start saying what an a-hole I am let me explain another part of it. I hate receiving gifts just as much. I never know how to act or what to say or what to do. The whole process is just awkward. It makes me irritable and drives me nuts.

I personally would rather people mail me a gift card if they feel the need to give me a gift. I expect gifts from no one not even my wife or kids. At Christmas I would rather go find my own little present than to receive something that makes all the awkwardness appear. I would rather my wife tell me exactly in explicit detail what she wants than to see the gift languish in what is termed as the island of unwanted gifts. You know the gift that sits wherever and is never used but yet never returned for fear of offending someone.

I know that I get this silly gifting disability from my father. He too is gift challenged.

Now the point of this confession is that I just purchased my wife the biggest and most expensive gift I ever could imagine for her birthday. And she is thrilled to death with it.  Its a 2008 Yamaha Grizzly 450 with 55 miles on it. Happy Birthday Hanna!