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What was your worst Christmas gift ever?


JAHV76

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My wife and I attend a small Filipino Born Again church in Bahrain. Last year they gave electric shavers to all the men. Remember this is a Filipino group. I'm the only one in the place with anything resembling a real beard. This shaver is like a torture device. A whirring "blade" that pulls out every hair individually. At least the trimmer attachment works.

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One Christmas, when I was about 14, I was all hyped up when I saw my name on a shiny Nordstroms box under the tree at my dad's.

 

Neither my mom or dad played the brand clothing game. Clothes were from Sears or Penney's (there used to be one at Fashion Island back in the day...the Newport Coast iranians would puke in their $2000 purses if they knew they were having lunch in the former basement of a JC Penney's!), so the Nordstrom box was a big, bold move

 

My mom, especially, was all about the g'damned 'Cambridge Classics' from Mervyn's. 

 

I really looked forward to Christmas day when I could finally see what I got.  I was pretty stoked at first when I saw it was a grey Polo sweater.  This was the '80s, so it was a win.

 

But this sweater felt a little off, like it wasn't soft like the legit Polo stuff at Nordstroms or Bullocks.  And the tag was weird. 

 

I shoulda known something was up when I opened the box and the little sticker that served as a seal to bind the tissue paper wrapped around the gift had been torn.

 

A few days later, I went to The Price Club, now called CostCo.  I spotted a table with a stack of about 200 of those crappy Polo sweaters.  But I was still stoked enough.  A little disappointed that my dad tried to pull a Gary Gaetti on me, but whatever.  It wasn't a Cambridge Classics.

 

I had a thing about washing all my clothes before wearing them for the first time.  Threw that sweater in the washer.  Then the dryer.  It shrunk up something fierce.  Wouldn't have fit Billy Barty.  Or David Eckstien.  I showed my mom...she laughed her ass off.  The Polo sweater wasn't meant to be.  I've learned to keep my hopes down ever since.

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One Christmas, when I was about 14, I was all hyped up when I saw my name on a shiny Nordstroms box under the tree at my dad's.

Neither my mom or dad played the brand clothing game. Clothes were from Sears or Penney's (there used to be one at Fashion Island back in the day...the Newport Coast iranians would puke in their $2000 purses if they knew they were having lunch in the former basement of a JC Penney's!), so the Nordstrom box was a big, bold move

My mom, especially, was all about the g'damned 'Cambridge Classics' from Mervyn's.

I really looked forward to Christmas day when I could finally see what I got. I was pretty stoked at first when I saw it was a grey Polo sweater. This was the '80s, so it was a win.

But this sweater felt a little off, like it wasn't soft like the legit Polo stuff at Nordstroms or Bullocks. And the tag was weird.

I shoulda known something was up when I opened the box and the little sticker that served as a seal to bind the tissue paper wrapped around the gift had been torn.

A few days later, I went to The Price Club, now called CostCo. I spotted a table with a stack of about 200 of those crappy Polo sweaters. But I was still stoked enough. A little disappointed that my dad tried to pull a Gary Gaetti on me, but whatever. It wasn't a Cambridge Classics.

I had a thing about washing all my clothes before wearing them for the first time. Threw that sweater in the washer. Then the dryer. It shrunk up something fierce. Wouldn't have fit Billy Barty. Or David Eckstien. I showed my mom...she laughed her ass off. The Polo sweater wasn't meant to be. I've learned to keep my hopes down ever since.

Welcome back DR.

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