As my 50th birthday approaches, friends, and you muse over what fabulous gift to bestow upon me, let me help you.
Since there are approximately four things that I like, and exactly 4,537 things that I don't, this will be very easy. Please don't give me:
1. Anything with a surface. A surface means only one thing: dust. And dust is the devil's snow. So no knickknacks, picture frames, plaques with inspirational quotes, or wide candles that have the satanic combination of a surface + dust-lovin' wax. And please don't give me anything with multiple surfaces, such as a shelving unit or a plaque with an engraved inspirational quote that will force me to dust each and every letter of "Live, Love, Laugh." And please please, nothing with multiple surfaces that rotate, such as a ceiling fan, as it brings back tortured memories of my father writing "Dust Me" in the dust on our ceiling fan with his finger, and my mother shrieking, "If you took the time to write "Dust Me," why didn't you just dust it?!!"
2. Flowers. I live in the NYC area and a lot of women don't like being given flowers here because there are florists on every corner and you can buy someone a dozen long-stemmed roses literally three seconds before you see them. But it's not the lack of forethought that gets me. It's the lack of backthought. You see, I'm not a visual person, so once the flowers are in my house they just become a part of the scenery, and thus, I never ever ever remember to throw them out until they are a wilting, putrefied handful of glop that smell like the city morgue after a three-day power outage. Plus, can we talk about how flowers collect dust? (see #1)
3. A card. A pox on thee, Hallmark, and thy $4.99 price-y tag.
4. Clothing. For some reason, people like to buy me clothes, but they just don't realize what a weird body I have. I'm tiny and narrow on top and zaftig on the bottom, so if I don't dress carefully, I look like an African Wine Kettle Gourd. Would it be a kind thing to make me look like a gourd on my 50th birthday? No. No, it would not.
Please do give me:
1. Chocolate.
2. Books.
3. Movie tickets.
4. Any knickknack with a pug on it. (Yes, I realize that's an exception to the "nothing with a surface" rule, but if the surface is adorably flat-faced and screwy-tailed, I'll bust out the Endust.)
That's it.
Easiest birthday shopping ever.
See you at the party.
Shari Simpson was a BlogHer '12 Voice of the
Year in Humor which was terribly exciting until she realized she still had to
clean her own toilets. Comedic playwright: "Maybe Baby, It's You" (Dramatic
Publishing, Inc.), screenwriter: "The Passion of Danny Burke" (Animus
Films), blogger: "Earth Mother just means I'm dusty," and actor,
Shari is devoted to her church, her bemused husband, her children (two human,
one pug), and her crazy Italian mother, who writes the occasional guest post on
Shari's blog about her days as a professional belly dancer. Follow Shari on
Facebook and Twitter (@DustyEarthMom).
