Of course he had waited till Christmas Eve to buy anyone a present. No one buys presents in advance, right? Unfortunately, this also meant he was forced to scurry around target with 500 other irritable people trying to match the personalities of every relative/coworker/friend/significant other and their pets with a consumer good.
He didn’t know how long he’d been there, in that obscenely red and white store with its giant fake christmas tree in the center and its posters of jolly painted bulldog puppies hanging from the ceilings. It could have been 15 minutes. It could have been an hour. It could have been an eternity. It seemed that Madonna’s rendition of ”Santa Baby” was following him wherever he turned. He shuddered as he pondered the aging sex symbol. That’s a Christmas gift no one wants, he thought. He had accumulated half of his needed gifts in his festive holiday cart, which as one would expect, had that one gimpy wheel which refused to follow the crowd.
He was beginning to feel angsty as the stress of the “most wonderful time of the year” created a sense of impending doom which hung over his head like a giant fat man in a red suit. Everywhere he turned, there were equally strung out shells of shoppers who were so fed up with the holiday season that they would bowl over their own grandmother for that last Transformers action figure. He looked at the scribbles of his hastily written out shopping list. His spirits sank as he saw that one last name remained uncrossed at the top: his mother.
He looked up to see that he was currently standing in the Dental Hygiene aisle, which he had mistakenly turned into when he had lost a game of chicken to a 400 pound black woman on a mission. Did his mother need any floss? Probably, but what a lousy Christmas present. Maybe if it was candy cane flavored…but perhaps he should find something more sentimental. After all, this was the woman who had pushed him from her womb. She was the kind of woman who was difficult to shop for. She’d play games, smiling humbly and saying that she didn’t need a gift. But if you even thought about simply offering a hug, she would get pissed. But if you bought her the wrong gift, the result might be even more tragic. A too large sweater meant that she was clinically obese, and should go on a diet immediately. Perfume meant that she was putridly odorous. New pots and pans meant that she was a terrible cook. His gift had to be both touching and thoughtful, while being completely harmless, so that any attempt to spin his intentions could be deflected.
He wandered through the crowds crisscrossing the aiseways. On a whim, he went down the Home Decorating aisle. Picture frames, end tables, and lamps surrounded him on either side. It appeared that the Christmas gremlins had been at work, for the selection on the shelves was thin at best. He wanted his search to be over. And then he saw it.
The yellow lampshade was home to bright floral print not usually seen this side of the 1950s. It stood out from the dull brown of the shelf and the occasional sprinkling of other furniture. It was perfect. Well, it was there. And so, in fact, was somone else, staring at the same shade from the other end of the aisle. Their eyes met for a moment. His eyes flicked to the lampshade, then hers. Although her initial posture was worn and ragged, the competitive spirit aroused by his challenge gave her an aura of determination. He cocked an eyebrow. Summoning the primal insticts of some prehistoric ancestor, he clearly yet wordlessly marked his territory. “It’s mine,” his gaze said. Her facial muscles contracted until it seemed her features would disappear into a single wrinkle. “It’s on,” her face said. They hesitated for a moment. His finger twitched. The battle had begun.
It was obvious that this hardheaded woman was used to using passive agressive wiles to bring an end to her means. She probably was a prosection lawyer, slumming it in Target for her own mother’s gift. However, her educated, elitist ways would not suffice in the real world. She tucked a stray hair into her bun as she hastily strode, heels clacking towards the target. He was already at a disadvantage, as the lampshade was ever so slightly closer to her end of the aisle. However, as soon as he saw her overly dignified tactics, he knew he was going to be victorious. He leapt forward, diving into her cart, sending it careening down the aisle in the opposite direction. He could only see a flash of her shocked face as she flattened herself against the shelf to avoid being taken out by the red plastic cart of consumer doom. He gave off a gleeful chuckle, the only sound that passed between them, as he snatched the lampshade, and barrelled back the way he came. He tried to saunter off with his cart, but the defective wheel spoiled his grand exit. He was tempted to look back at her, but decided against it. He didn’t want to seem like a jerk.
He made his way back to the checkout triumphant, a giant among men, proud that he of all these people had emerged victorious. And then, naturally, he looked down at the lampshade still clutched tightly in his fist. His mother was going to hate it.
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