A few years ago, a platonic female friend bought me a very considerate Christmas gift.
I typically don’t want my friends to buy Christmas gifts for me because I feel obligated to return the favor.
And I hate driving through traffic, standing in lines, and watching people club each other’s kneecaps for the last pair of tube socks.
But my friend purchased the gift on her own and wanted me to stop by her place and pick it up before she left town for the holidays.
I went to her house a few days before Christmas, and she immediately went to a back room and returned with a shiny, green gift bag.
I opened the bag and she had given me a Franklin electronic speaking pocket dictionary.
I carried a similar dictionary at the time that I used to research new vocabulary words I encountered. But her gift was an updated version that pronounced the defined words through a small speaker.
“Thanks,” I said, and leaned in to give her a hug.
“No problem,” she said. “I remembered your other one and thought you would like this one.”
She saw the previous model when I used it while we were watching television at her place one night; she asked to hold it and fiddled with the buttons and scrolled through the screens before returning it to me.
I could have imagined her buying one for herself, but not buying a new one for me.
“I really appreciate this,” I said reading the list of features on the back of the packaging. “I’ll have to get something for you.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she said. “I told you, I just thought you would like it.”
I took the dictionary home that night and would go on to use it as my “residential” electronic dictionary, while continuing to carry the old one in my pocket.
I was determined to return my friend’s favor; I wanted to get her something just as thoughtful.
She and I known each other for a few years, and could have been a couple if we hadn’t been dating other people when we met.
We would have “real” conversations about dating, relationships, romance, and sometimes even more intimate matters.
She once shared with me that she interested in purchasing a certain type of “battery operated device,” but was uncertain of where to get one or what exactly to get.
I decided (foolishly or not), as reciprocation for her kindness, I would get her a battery operated device.
I had purchased a similar device for another friend, mostly as a joke, so I knew where to get one and had an idea of what to get.
A store known as the “Adult Super Center” in Charlotte (on Wilkinson Boulevard) is a type of warehouse that sold such items.
I would go to “Super Center” and preview their inventory, but purchase items I wanted from an online store that sold them 50-60% cheaper.
I visited the store and found “one” that I thought my friend would like. It had an aerodynamic shape (it looked like a spacecraft), eight speed controls, was waterproof—and it was PURPLE. (Yeah, they usually come in pink or purple.)
The one thing I didn’t like about the device is that it required two “C” batteries. I wasn’t sure if stores still sold “C” batteries, but I took a chance and decided to purchase the device.
I went home, placed the order online, and received the delivery three or four business days later (in an undisclosed box).
The following day, after work, I purchased a metallic silver gift bag from the dollar store. I placed the device inside (the actual device was in a fancy black box), along with a swath of tissue paper and two “C” batteries, and took a trip to my friend’s place.
I knocked on the door and she answered in her after work attire, and she looked down at the bag as I walked in. “I told you, you didn’t have to get me anything.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know,” I said “But I got you something anyway.”
I sat on the sofa and she offered me something to drink, but I was anxious to get to the gift-giving. I was uncertain of how she would react to the gift since some time had passed since we discussed her desire to have a device.
We exchange a few pleasantries on the sofa, and then I said, “Well, here you go.”
As soon as I handed her the gift, I imagined she would either like it or think I was a sort of weirdo.
She reached into the bag and removed the purple tissue paper and placed it beside her, on the sofa.
I watched her look down into the bag and her eyes widened. She smiled and pulled out the box. “Oh my god … ” she said. “What is this?”
“What do you think it is?” I said.
“Oh my god, I can’t believe you bought this.” She examined the box closer. “How much did this cost?”
“Don’t worry about how much it cost. Do you like it?”
“Yeah, I like it.” She stared at the device through the clear plastic window. “It’s, it’s pretty… and its, it’s purple.” (The color was closer to lavender but “purple” was an adequate description.)
I was relieved, and I took a moment to revel in my gift-giving prowess.
My friend opened the box and pulled out the device. She examined it and rubbed her fingers across its surface, “It’s so soft,” she said. “What made you get this for me?”
“We talked about it, remember? You said you wanted one.”
“You remembered that?” she said.
“Yeah, I remembered it … like you remembered my dictionary.”
“This is so nice.” She placed the device in her lap and gave me an appreciative hug.
I left her place satisfied with my decision to give the gift, and thinking, “Mission Purple Passion Pleasure: Accomplished!”
I had given her the gift and avoided all the anticipated awkwardness.
That happened on a Friday.
The following Wednesday evening, I received an incoming call while watching television. I looked at my phone and it was my friend calling.
I hoped she wasn’t calling to tell me how wonderful and fantastic the gift was, and that she “used” it every night since I gave it to her, and that she needed a fresh pair of C batteries because she burned out the first two.
She certainly could have kept that information to herself.
I answered the phone. “Hey, what’s up?”
“Hey … what’s up?” she said.
I’ve been talking to women on the phone long enough to recognize the variations of “Hey, what’s up,” and hers was definitely a something-is-wrong “Hey, what’s up?”
“So, what’s going on?” I said.
“Oh, nothing much,” she said with a bit of a sigh.
“So, what’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said. “But I do have something to tell you.”
“What is it?”
“Um … I don’t think I can keep your gift.”
For a moment I thought she was being sarcastic, as if to say, she couldn’t keep the gift because she was using it too much, and was in fear of becoming desensitized to the “real thing” (a common concern)—but I wasn’t sure. “Why can’t you keep it?”
“I just don’t think I should have it,” she said.
“You seemed to want it when I gave it to you; what happened?”
“No, I did want it,” she said. “And I appreciate it, but I went to church this Sunday and …”
“Uh oh,” I said. “So, what happened at church?”
“Nothing … I just went and the preacher was talking about it.”
“The preacher was talking about my gift?”
“No, not the actual gift … but he was talking about “women who use those ‘gadgets’.”
“Gadgets?”
“Yeah, gadgets like the one you gave me.”
“Oh, I didn’t know I gave you a gadget,” I said, laughing.
“Stop laughing,” she said, fighting her own laughter. “It’s not funny.”
“No, it’s not funny … the preacher talking about gadgets is hilarious. So, what do you want me to do?”
“I need you to come by and pick it up.”
“I’m not coming over there to pick up your used gadget.”
“It’s not used … I haven’t used it yet.”
“Wait, so you haven’t used it and you’re feeling guilty?”
“Yeah … just come get it, please.”
“Alright,” I said, as if giving her a chance to rescind her decision—but she was firm.
I went to her place a few days later and picked up the “gadget.” It was in the box with the instructions and the small velour storage pouch.
I took it home and kept it there for more than a year. I was reluctant to give it away and acted as if it had a serial number on it, and had to be used by the person it was purchased for.
That was, until about a year and a half ago when I mentioned the origin of the gadget to a former coworker and she said, “Do you still have it?”
“Yeah, I still have it.”
I eventually gave it to her, despite my reservations. She took it home and gave it rave reviews.
She also mentioned that she hadn’t been to church in more than two years—perfect!
Lesson Learned: Only give “gadgets” to heathens.
