18. While visions of sushi-for-two kits danced in their heads.

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Tonight I went shopping. I loathe shopping. Hate it. Resent it. Avoid it. Going into stores fills me with a frustration and low-key sadness that makes me tired and wan in very short order. The brightly-lit displays and the artful displays of stuff no one really needs tires me out. I never want any of this stuff, I say to myself. How could anyone want this, want to spend hard-earned money on it? What are these people thinking?

I pick up the clear-stemmed red goblet wine glasses off of a set of cube shelves, and I grasp them carefully. I ask Svet, "Do you think it would be OK? If I got two of these, see?" and I turn around to show her the red glass, channeling Vanna and putting on my best sales voice "... and then, with the gift certificate? That way, they have the gift certificate, and they have something physical, tangible, to take home with them?" I remember that this store will put it all in a sturdy little box that'll be easy to wrap. It'll look ... substantial, yes?

Every year my mom's side of the family does this thing called Sister's Christmas, where she and her two sisters and all of the immediate family members get together at one of the sisters' houses for a meal and a gift exchange the Sunday before Christmas. It's a way to keep in touch with her siblings, but it is always an exercise in frustration for me. We never really have gathered wish lists of possible gifts, and with the spending limit ($30 or so), it's hard to guess what might be a nice thing to have, or is simply something the receiver will want to return the very next morning.

I've got one of my favorite cousins this year, and I just don't know what to get him. I can't abide some of the tacky stuff I've seen bandied about - my brother and I used to make jokes about sweaters with leather elbow patches - but with no lists, there's no font of inspiration. We don't all see each other enough during the year, you know? We count on Sister's Christmas to bond us together with cheap epoxy, but by the end of the day, by the New Year, we've sprung back into our own lives again, and it's another year before have to even think about the others.

Augh, why am I here? Stupid track lighting and tastefully-appointed generic furniture for the yuppie masses is stacked and angled and polished artfully against the walls and in the middle of large expanses of hardwood flooring. I don't have the money for this. I'd much rather spend the money on Svetlana, who's standing there looking supportive and sweet, her dark hair shiny under the lights. I mean, I've got the money; I will be able to afford this. Sort of. I just ... well, perhaps resent isn't the word at all. It just feels like yet another bump in the road. Money phobia: Don't want to spend it, know that if I start spending, I will always go a little too far unless I am mindful of my goals.

Svet thought the wine glasses with gift certificate was just fine, considering the circumstances. Staying at the same store, I was able to find two fairly specific items from the wishlist of the other grab bag I have to attend this coming week. This time it's for the stepfamily, and it's about $65 for the limit. I spoke with my brother tonight on the phone and he informed me that apparently stepfamily members want to up the limit to $75 next year. By this point in the evening Svet and I are at Mitchell's and have just ordered spinach and feta omelettes for dinner, so I barely manage to refrain from bellowing out just what I thought of that idea. Seventy-five dollars! I am not sure I understand what the point is. We do have lists for this one, so unless your grab bag person is wishy-washy, you're gonna get exactly a tidy $65 selection from your list. Upping the limit seems like a perverse way of justifying spending more money on yourself.

Ah well. 'Tis the season. Fuh luh luh.

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