The Art of Gifting

Every now and then well-meaning friends will try to give me gifts that they think will help me nurture my non-existent maternal instinct.

Among the ill-fated ones were the 3 cats  (after 1 committed suicide, I gave the other 2 away out of compassion – to myself, not the cats. They could jump off the balcony one by one for all I care. I just couldn’t stand them jumping around the house like kitties on weed. For all you know, they probably smoked some to dull the pain of living with me), the 6 fishes (all died within 2 hours, thank you), various potted plants (died, died, died, died, died and died) and 2 hamsters (thankfully the gifter came to his senses and took these back after a couple of days upon finding that I did not feed them once. I forgot to. Honest). 

So, if you are thinking of giving me “meaningful” gifts, shiny things work best. If you insist on giving me something living and breathing, make sure it cleans, does the laundry and cooks too. That kind, I like.



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