When I was a young boy, my Great Aunt Ruth always gave us extremely well-planned Christmas gifts. She was thoughtful, extravagant, and knew how to combine whimsy with practicality. Except with my father.
She gave him a box of socks from Garfinkel’s every year, until the resounding pangs of marital dissolution echoed throughout our house. His holiday was no longer her concern.
I was just thinking, as I gazed out the sunroom window and into the darkness: the gift of hosiery actually sounds very nice.
Hear that, Henry?