Okay, maybe six. No gift receipt with this one, of course.
A New Blender
Yes, I paid for this one myself. And I left it at my sister's house because that's where I'll get the most use out of it.
I was in my sister's kitchen blending up another batch of Christmas Eve Grasshoppers when we smelled something burning. It had to be something my sister was cooking... Grasshoppers don't burn. Then I heard a sickening CRUNCH and my sister's blender started smoking.
I still thank Baby Jesus that Walmart was open for last-minute shopping.
My sister gave me a keychain. I know what you're thinking, because I thought it too. But I was assured it's a special keychain. If I were to ever lose my keys, all I have to do is whistle and my keychain will beep and flash. "Here I am you idiot! Open your fucking eyes!"
You'd think this would be a perfect gift for someone with ADD. But in reality, no. I learned long ago that having a special place to keep such items ensures I'll know where they are when I need them.
|So that's where I put my banana! Duh.|
Sometimes I fear I'm losing my mind.
The magic keychain does work. It flashes and plays a series of tones whenever I whistle. Or talk. Or turn the TV on. And thanks to my knowledge of Morse Code, I know it's saying "S M H". What I haven't figured out is why.
I love my new keychain. I keep it in JB's makeup purse.
The Gift of Oral Hygiene
My gift from JB this year was a toothbrush. To be fair, it was on my list. Item number four, right under Karaoke Revolution for Wii, Glee: Volume Three.
I used to have a Sonicare which saw me through three years of braces while still getting straight A's from my dentist. Even my oral surgeon once complimented my gums, but I suspect he was hitting on me. (That and coming out of anesthesia curiously disheveled.)
Sadly, I had to say goodbye to my sonic friend about a year ago when its mighty, plaque-busting hum became a torpid, gum-teasing whine. I replaced it with a cheap Crest spin-brush from Target, but its hard to get excited about driving a Ford Focus when you're used to tooling around town in a Mercedes Benz. Or so I imagine. This lack of enthusiasm was reflected in my latest dental check-up. B-minus.
When I tore into the wrapping paper and saw the word "Sonicare", I squealed with joy. (And found my keys.) My glee turned to befuddlement when I tore further and saw this wasn't a toothbrush at all. I needn't have worried, I was to unwrap a new Sonicare toothbrush next. But this was something very different.
It seems my thoughtful little jumping bean also got me Sonicare's latest invention: The "Airfloss". It promises to make old-fashioned dental floss obsolete by shooting a hypersonic jet of aerosolized liquid between one's teeth, ripping out plaque and vaporizing Taco Bell particles while leaving the gums relatively intact.
Do not direct the spray under the
tongue, into the ear, nose, eye
or other sensitive areas."
Reading the instruction manual, which included a waiver of implied liability and copious bold-print warnings next to pictographs depicting people flossing their eyeballs out and hemorrhaging on their bathroom floors, I admit to being a bit intimidated by the thing.
After letting it fully charge and filling the reservoir with a tablespoon of mouthwash, I aimed it toward the palm of my hand and fired an apprehensive test shot.
Jesus Christ, that stings! Holy fuck! I'm still not sure if I saw stars or that thing shoots laser beams too. I carefully put the Airfloss back in its box and tucked the Bed, Bath & Beyond gift receipt in my wallet.
But the promise of floss-less flossing is powerful and compelling. After studying the manual once more, I poured myself a drink, unboxed the monstrosity and slowly worked up the nerve to raise the barrel to my mouth. I closed my eyes and pulled the trigger...
What a rush! I'm so glad I gave my new Airfloss a chance. I'm now "flossing" in thirty seconds flat! I can't wait for my next check-up so I can say, "In your face, Dr. Domansky!"
Sure, I take an occasional shot to the tongue which brings me to tears, and just yesterday a careless misfire grazed my left nipple. But I have yet to blind or sterilize myself.